


Though My Soul May Set In Darkness

by pastmydancingdays



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Sex Pollen, Sickfic, Slow Burn, T'hy'la, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-02-05 09:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 111,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1812892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastmydancingdays/pseuds/pastmydancingdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months into the Five Year Mission, the Enterprise has reached the outskirts of the known galaxy, and its Captain has fallen ill. With a growing sense of unease, and increasing desperation, Spock takes it upon himself to manage both the ship, and Jim’s failing health, determined to save them both.</p><p>Because Khan’s blood was never going to be a permanent solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[翻譯]Though My Soul May Set In Darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152599) by [abigale_soo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigale_soo/pseuds/abigale_soo), [hjy9524](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjy9524/pseuds/hjy9524)



Upon waking, Spock’s internal chronometer informed him that it was 3.17 A.M. This was unusual, as he did not need to be awake for another 3.72 hours.   
  
‘Computer. Lights at 20%,’ he muttered.  
  
Blinking primary eyelids to remove any sleep residue from his vision, he concluded that he must have been woken by an external stimulus, and one hand shot out to grip the phaser lying on his bedside cabinet accordingly. However, it soon became apparent that there was no immediate threat to his life when his auditory systems focused on the sound of retching from the bathroom.  _Jim._  After a moment of consideration, Spock decided two things. One: it was unlikely that the vomiting was caused by alcohol abuse, as contrary to the negative first impression he made, the Captain was too professional to indulge in such behaviour when not on shore leave. Two: it was also unlikely that he would be able to sleep any further without intervention. Cringing inwardly at the sound of another spatter of vomit hitting ceramic, Spock rose from his bed to stand outside the door to their shared bathroom. There he lingered for a moment. Perhaps the Captain would not appreciate his interference in such matters. After all, it had been proved time and time again that he disliked medical treatment, even to the extent of running through the corridors of the Enterprise from an apoplectic Doctor McCoy. But when sensitive ears caught the sound of a ragged sob, Spock found himself knocking before he realised what he was doing. He heard Jim’s breath catch, heard him sniff, heard the fabric of his trousers drag along the floor as he shifted.  
  
‘Come in, Spock,’ Jim said softly.  
  
With a press of the touchpad beside them, the doors slid open to reveal Jim sitting next to the toilet, back against the wall. He wore no shirt, and Spock could see a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin. He regretted his first inhale of air almost immediately, as the pungent smell of sickness invaded his senses, forcing him to quell his gag reflex and breathe through his mouth.  
  
‘Captain,’ he began, noting the alarming paleness of Jim’s face, ‘you are unwell.’  
  
‘I’m fine, Spock,’ Jim rasped, but his insistence was rapidly falsified by him retching, diving for the toilet bowl as he vomited again, bent almost double. He shivered violently, and flailed his hand vaguely in an apologetic fashion at Spock before it was required to keep his balance. Unwilling to admit even to himself that the sight made him feel similarly nauseated, Spock moved forwards, and brought his hand to rest hovering just above Jim’s back. Though they weren’t touching, Jim’s emotions jumped the air barrier like neurotransmitters across the synaptic gap, palpable nausea and misery flooding into him. In an act of self-preservation, Spock drew his hand back to rest at his side, the sickening wave fading and retreating until he had regained equilibrium.  
  
Resolute, Spock began, ‘Captain, I must insist that you go to Medbay.’  
  
‘What?’ Jim said incredulously, wary, bright eyes affixing his with perhaps less intensity than usual. ‘No way, I’m alright.’  
  
‘You are most evidently not ‘alright’.’  
  
‘It’s just a little bug, ‘kay?’ Jim coughed. ‘Humans get these all the time. Didn’t your mom-?’  
  
Spock inhaled a little too fast, and Jim visibly stiffened, eyes darting away, then back to Spock’s. Spock recognised his own flash of grief and suppressed it, cataloguing it in his mind. He gave Jim a sharp nod.  
  
‘Look the point is, I’m fine.’  
  
‘Fine has variable definitions,’ Spock argued, as he had many times with his mother.  
  
This elicited a sigh from Jim, who leant his head against the toilet seat, a move Spock considered highly unsanitary.  
  
‘Doctor McCoy may be able to aid you.’  
  
 _‘Doctor McCoy,’_  Jim mimicked, ‘is asleep right now, and would hypo me extra hard for waking him up. He’s on Alpha tomorrow too. And please don’t suggest going down to Medbay, Spock, because I hate the place. It’ll pass.’  
  
Spock examined him for a long moment. It was true that his mother had, on occasion, fallen ill and recovered within a short period. This knowledge warred with his experience of Jim minimising his medical problems. With Jim’s gaze fixed steadily on him, the former fact won out, as he decided that it would not be worth the stress of waking a cantankerous Doctor McCoy for an ailment that may well be temporary.  
  
‘Very well,’ he conceded, the corners of his lips pulled downwards in the closest to an expression of disapproval Jim was going to get. ‘But in the event that your condition worsens, you are to contact Medbay.’  
  
Jim’s eyebrow raised.  ‘Who’s the Captain again?’   
  
Before Spock could answer – if he was going to at all – Jim’s expression morphed into one more dangerous. Looking up through his eyelashes, he adopted a come-hither expression, marred only slightly by his ill pallor.  
  
‘Why, Mister Spock,’ he crooned, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, ‘I didn’t know you cared.’  
  
Spock went rigid, back straightening until it could have served as a ruler.   
  
He forced any and all expression from his face and voice, saying dispassionately, ‘You have a duty, as Captain of this ship, to be in optimal condition for the safety and wellbeing of the crew.’  
  
It was the wrong thing to say, and Spock knew it immediately, quashing the wave of guilt that rose on seeing Jim’s hurt expression.  
  
‘Very well,’ Jim barked, diction sharpening until each syllable cracked like a whip.   
  
‘Dismissed,  _Commander.’_  
  
The tone very clearly implied he was unwelcome, so he nodded and returned to his quarters, hearing with an internal wince that Jim had begun vomiting again. It was 3.24 A.M. He had managed to antagonise the Captain within five minutes of conversation, factoring in the time it had taken to enter and leave the bathroom. Not for the first time, Spock doubted that his counterpart’s vision of a utopian friendship would ever come to pass. The urge to call Ambassador Selek regarding Jim’s ailments arose, sudden, yet fleeting. It was likely that the Ambassador’s own Jim Kirk had had similar experiences, however Spock was often rendered somewhat uncomfortable by the twinkle in his eye when they discussed the Captain. This was separate to the fact that Jim’s warm, and strangely flirtatious reaction to his elder twin was doubly disconcerting. Resigned to the likelihood that sleep would now be unachievable, and aware that he was capable of functioning without it, Spock lit his incense candles.  
  
‘Computer. Lights at 0%. Raise temperature by 10 degrees.’  
  
When Spock folded himself into a meditation pose and closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was back in the sweltering desert that was Vulcan, the air – so scorching the heat could almost be tasted – warming his near-permanently chilled skin. As a child, tormented by his peers, meditation was his solace. With no friends to turn to, a mother emotionally frazzled by the hostility she met daily, and a father insistent that he be wholly Vulcan despite his biology, meditation provided comfort that was difficult to seek elsewhere. Of course, his mother tried, and Spock  _knew_  she loved him, but she would never truly understand the struggle within him, trapped between his need to emote and his need to remain emotionless for safety’s sake. True serenity was often unattainable in his daily interactions. And so it was that after hours in the learning centre, after the inevitable antagonism that came thereafter, Spock would sit with bloodied lip and bruised skin and fall into his own mind. With I-Chaya guarding the door to his room, he knew he was safe.  
  
Dredging up these memories brought with them an unexpected wave of pain, so potent that he shuddered, and immediately chastised himself for it. Vulcans did not allow themselves to feel pain. Vulcans did not suffer from the human affliction of nostalgia. Spock slowed his shaky breathing and inhaled the calming incense, beginning to sift through the memories of the past few days. He weeded out any and all traces of surface emotion and compartmentalised them, knowing that if he allowed them to build up, the primal urges that lay dormant within him could be more easily woken. A great many of these instances, he noticed, involved one James T. Kirk. He felt the echo of his pleasure at seeing Jim smile, his irritation as Jim disregarded his opinion on the bridge, and his worry for Jim’s health, and put those echoes to rest, shifting his mind away from the dangers such feelings presented. He resolved to spend less time around the Captain, as it was obvious that being in his presence posed the most risk of emotional compromise. Composure achieved, he concentrated in slowing his bodily functions in imitation of sleep, feeling the warmth of his home planet on his upturned face.  
  
It was Jim’s alarm that eventually roused him, and the inevitable cursing that ensued. Hearing Jim shuffle around the bathroom to take care of his morning ablutions, Spock readied his uniform and made his bed before his turn for the shower came. By the time he reached the bridge and saw Jim’s easy smile, greeted warmly, the events of the night before were forgotten.  
  
 ****

* * *

  
When Jim’s alarm went off, he jerked awake, cracked his head against the sink, and swore. There was no way it was 7 already, no way. But as his alarm kept blaring, and no sign of being in a dream – note to self: _fuck,_  pinching hurts – it was time to face the inevitable, awful truth. He was going on a shift with two hours sleep feeling like he’d been smacked in the face with a shovel. Better not tell that to Spock; he could already hear the dull ‘Have you had prior experience of being assaulted with a gardening implement, Captain?’ echoing in his ears. Ugh, no. He should be mad at Spock anyway, for being such an ass last night. As if he’d ever put his crew in danger just because he didn’t like being poked and prodded. If he was really sick, he’d go. Jim hauled himself to his feet and shoved the shower on, wincing as he saw his face in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, with purple-black shadows underneath, and he was still pretty pale. Switching the shower from sonic to water, he sighed in pleasure as he slipped under the hot spray, turning the temperature up until his bones didn’t feel cold anymore. No matter how he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Spock had said last night. Selek had always been so insistent that they would have this beautiful relationship, and Jim had thought that maybe that was materialising post-Khan, when Spock spent most of their year grounded helping Jim get fit and healthy again. But as soon as the Enterprise was ready to go, Spock withdrew, spending more time with Uhura, and on lab work, and Jim wanted to know why. He washed quickly, aware of the time, and that Spock, a stickler for routine, was likely waiting for his turn already. Feeling cleaner and slightly more energetic, he turned the water off and finished his morning routine, a quick glance in the mirror revealing that he no longer looked like a corpse, thank  _god._  
  
‘It’s all yours!’ he called, pulling a towel off the rack to slip around his waist as he left the bathroom.  
  
It was twenty five past when he checked his watch, so he yanked his uniform on and dragged himself down to the mess. He’d normally wait for Spock when they were on shift together, but Jim thought he deserved a bit of a cold shoulder today. Bones was already there when he arrived, looking as radiant and approachable as ever with his semi-permanent scowl and a glare directed at anyone who passed his table. Jim grabbed some toast and sat uncomfortably close to him.  
  
‘Hey, Bones,’ he simpered, complete with shit-eating grin.  
  
‘Get off me, you limpet.’  
  
Jim allowed himself to be shoved a foot to the left, adopting a hurt expression, complete with bottom lip wobble.  
  
‘Y’know that face doesn’t work on me,’ Bones snapped. ‘I have a kid you know, and you’re just like she was at three.’  
  
‘But Booooooones,’ Jim cooed, shifting closer again, ‘I want my morning cuddle.’  
  
He caught the eye of Chekov, sat at the table across with a shy little smile on his face, and smirked back as he saw Bones’ face grow ever more mottled with rage.  
  
‘Hell’s bells, Jim, forget what I just said. My Jo wasn’t ever as clingy as you. Pull yourself together, man, you’re twenty eight years old.’  
  
Jim winked at Chekov and lay his head on Bones’ shoulder, before scooting out of hypo range. When no retribution seemed to be forthcoming, he shoved his toast in his mouth, to Bones’ disgusted stare, then stood and stretched.  
  
‘Mmm, I’ll be ten minutes early, but it looks like Spock will already be there.’  
  
‘Yeah, what’s up with you and the hobgoblin anyway?’ Bones asked, brandishing his mug in Jim’s direction.  
  
‘What do you mean? Pretty sure we’re cool.’  
  
‘He been a bit distant lately?’ Bones smirked. ‘Honeymoon period worn off? Seems to be spending a lot of time in the labs lately, and less playing chess with you.’  
  
He knew Bones was only teasing, but the truth hurt, and he was forced to suppress a grimace. Unfortunately, Bones noticed everything.  
  
‘Oh, come on, Jimmy, I didn’t mean no harm. I was joking, that’s all.’   
  
‘I know, it’s cool,’ Jim smiled, cheeks dimpling but he knew it wouldn’t pass as genuine. Bones looked at him in concern, but he waved it off, throwing him a quick goodbye and setting off before Mr. Laser Eyes could notice anything else off about him. He caught up with Chekov on the way and clapped his back, giving him a quick hello.  
  
‘Morning, Keptin.’  
  
‘Making my way to the bridge. Walking fast,’ he sang softly.  
  
Chekov tittered, and it was all well and good until Bones shouted after him, ‘Hey, Jim, you been sleeping okay?’  
  
‘Walking faster.’  
  
Thankfully, after a near-jog out of Bones’ immediate range, they made it to the bridge unhindered. Jim greeted everyone with a smile and a grin, and when Spock appeared, he turned in his chair to say good morning, trying to put last night’s argument behind him. Spock nodded stiffly in response, though one corner of hips lips quirked upwards in what Jim liked to imagine was a sort-of smile.  
  
‘Anything to report, Captain?’ Spock asked, relieving the officer sat at his station and going through his morning checklist.  
  
‘Nope,’ Jim replied easily, popping the ‘p’. ‘No anomalous activity, Mr. Spock, but we are approaching a new planetary system. Current estimates are that we’ll be there in a few days, so… cautious investigation, I think. Don’t want to freak out the locals. Until then, not much really.’  
  
A bubble of laughter rose in him as he considered the fact that the Enterprise was the first ship to explore this far out, with a crew that were considered babies by most of Starfleet. Spock raised an eyebrow in question. Jim huffed a breath out through his nose, smiling softly.  
  
‘It’s nothing, Mr. Spock. Just that… this opportunity is amazing. To be able to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilisations.’  
  
His smile broadened until it lit up his whole face, his cheeks aching.  
  
‘Isn’t it?’  
  
‘It is indeed a unique venture, Captain,’ Spock offered. ‘However, both you and the crew have proved yourselves worthy of such responsibility.’  
  
‘Spock, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,’ Jim sniffed, hand pressed to his chest.  
  
‘It’s the nicest thing he’s said about any of us,’ Sulu piped up, then quailed under Spock’s hard stare.  
  
Jim resolved to talk to him about that later. He might understand that it was just a neutral expression, but that didn’t mean the rest of the crew would. As the shift went on, a throbbing in his temples surfaced and worsened, until he was clenching the armrests of his chair with every new wave of agony. In between signing reports that yeoman gave him and pulling together data from science, engineering and communications, he could feel Spock’s eyes on him, but he refused to acknowledge it, turning his face away and trying to stop himself from squirming with the pain. The clock turning four was a blessing, as it felt like needles were being stabbed into his head. He stood on wobbly legs, thanked the lieutenant who was relieving him, and scuttled off towards the exit.  
  
‘Captain.’  
  
He stopped dead in his tracks, cursing internally. 100-watt smile adopted, he turned to Spock, suppressing the flinch as his head pulsed with excruciating intensity. Spock studied him as he would a specimen in the lab, dark eyes analysing his every twitch and shiver. Jim held his breath.  
  
‘Are you certain you are recovered from your illness?’ Spock asked finally, and Jim could have fainted with relief.  
  
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he blustered, ‘I’m good, Spock. I’m goooood.’  
  
Lifting an eyebrow, Spock responded with a nod, starting to walk away.  
  
‘Wait!’ Jim said desperately. ‘Chess tonight?’  
  
While on shore leave, they had played at least twice a week, starting when Jim was too weak to even get out of bed, and Spock had brought along a beautiful old cut glass set. When asked whose it was originally, he had replied quietly that it was his mother’s, and hadn’t spoken another word all night. Jim had garnered endless enjoyment from the obvious shock on Spock’s face the first time he’d won a match, which was somewhere around the second or third time they’d played, when he was feeling a little better. An old grandmaster, he was obviously unaccustomed to being beaten, and Jim remembered how his lips had tightened into a thin line as he watched him roll around with laughter until he gasped for breath, stitches straining. But again, as soon as they’d re-boarded Enterprise, Spock’s availability had declined from almost daily, to weekly, and falling. It had been three weeks since they’d last had a game.   
  
‘I apologise, Captain, but I have alternative arrangements with Lieutenant Uhura,’ Spock replied monotonously, and without another word, turned to catch up with her. Jim felt the smile slip from his face like the last drink that had been poured over his head as he watched Uhura link arms with him and leant her head on his shoulder. And Spock let her. Watching them made Jim’s stomach lurch sickeningly, like missing a step on the stairs, a distinct sense of  _wrong_  that invaded his body and sucked the air from his lungs. A moment later, he realised how ridiculous he was being – they were a couple, and he should be happy that his crew was happy. He should be happy that Spock was happy. Recognising how dumb he must look gawking after two of his officers, he swept away down the corridor, flushing as he noticed a couple of ensigns staring.  
  
‘Are you alright, Captain?’ one asked as he sped towards the turbolift.  
  
‘Yeah, thanks,’ he replied, wincing as his voice cracked when another surge of pain hit. ‘Carry on.’  
  
He didn’t look back to see if they were still watching, and was thankful when he encountered no one else on the way to his quarters. Once safely inside, he stumbled over to his bed and lay on his front, pressing his face into the duvet in the half-hearted hope that he’d pass out and wouldn’t be able to feel it anymore. He considered going to Bones for about a millisecond, but he knew he’d never get away without being stabbed with 20 hypos, and probably strapped to a bed to boot. Besides, it was only a bug. He pulled his knees up to his chest, so that his forehead was just touching the bed, and like that, like a child, he eventually fell asleep.  
  
 _‘Jimmy! Jimmy! You have to run. You have to go now! No, I can’t come with you, honey. Your Uncle Gabe and I will hold them off, just go!’_  
  
 _Aunt Grace’s face, normally serene and welcoming, was wretched, smeared with tears and blood, and so he did. He did with young legs pumping frantically across the barren fields as he heard the door blasted in and the flames tear their way up the house with a roar, and the smell of the rotting crops making him gag, and he didn’t look back. He never looked back._  
  
He woke with tears wetting the lines in his forehead and his bed sheets, having to stifle the wild cry that had risen in his throat without his permission. Unfolding his limbs from their warm cocoon, he sat up, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm and squinting at the clock. His heart sank when he saw that he’d missed his normal dinner time after Alpha, and the long-unnecessary but ever-present panic that arose when he had no access to food began to quicken his heart. He could always go and sneak something from the mess, but 20:45 was an odd time to go and eat, unless you were the nursing staff who grabbed food whenever they could, and they might tell Bones, and Bones might come and ask him what was wrong and maybe even take him off duty if he realised he hadn’t been well. And-  _oh._    
  
Then he remembered the replicator, sitting unobtrusively in the corner, as it always had. A ragged breath hissed its way out from between his teeth and he closed his eyes as he willed himself to calm. This was the Enterprise, not Tarsus. He was no longer a child. Replicating a big cheeseburger, he sniggered to himself about the fact that Bones wouldn’t be able to reprimand him about his eating habits for once. He’d never know that the meaty goodness had ever passed his lips. After he’d finished, he reluctantly got on with his reports, beginning with the weekly comprehensive report to Starfleet. This was always the job he put off most, especially when they were just on milk runs, or in limbo like they were at the moment. He scrolled through messages from Engineering (summary: everything’s fine), Communications (summary: nobody to communicate with at the moment), and Science (summary: we’re experimenting because we’re bored), and skimmed through Bones’ rant filled diary entry to find the medical information he needed to send. He was going to switch the padd off, but somehow he found his fingers disobeying him to scroll back up to the Science report. Before, he’d only checked for anomalous findings, but seeing as Spock wouldn’t talk to him anymore, here he had the perfect opportunity to see what he was up to. Clicking through link after link to find Spock’s personal lab entries was a vaguely voyeuristic feeling; odd, for someone like Jim who had very few inhibitions. It wasn’t that they weren’t allowed to be read, but it was unnecessary for him to do so, sort of like looking at someone’s rough drafts. Settling in to read through his adventures with terraforming, Jim smiled wistfully and sat back in his chair. He could almost hear Spock tell him about it, that deep, slow rumble of a voice that had wrapped its way around his heart. He traced the edge of the padd with trembling fingers, and wished it was Vulcan skin beneath them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels so good to get a new fic started, oh my god. For those of you who are new to my writing, you should know that I'm a consistent poster (although I'm going on holiday for a week soon, so nothing's going up then), and I have never, and will never abandon a story.
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy my first Trek fic, and please feel free to let me know what you think in the comments and suchlike!
> 
> You can find me here at my [Tumblr](http://www.pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/) :)


	2. The Breath Before The Phrase

Dinner with Nyota, as always, was pleasant. When Spock had forced himself to walk away from the Captain, ignoring with difficulty his obvious attempt to make peace, she had distracted him with idle chatter about the day’s events. Generally unremarkable, he had tried to tell her, but she would not relent, and for that, he was eventually thankful. The Captain commanded his attention for longer than he would allow himself to admit, and Nyota provided a welcome relief from Jim’s domination of his thoughts. When retrieving his food in the mess, Spock was both shocked and gratified to see that Plomeek soup had become available as a meal option. Nyota grinned at him as she collected her own Kachumbari, and led him to their table. They sat, as was their custom on occasion after Alpha shift, on a four-person table in the corner of the room. Despite this, nobody asked to sit with them, and Spock suspected this was due to the fact that nobody bar Nurse Chapel, Nyota’s trusted friend, was aware that their relationship had terminated. He brought the first spoonful up to his mouth, avoiding Nyota’s knowing gaze as he tasted  _home_  for the first time in over two years.  
  
‘Surprised that Plomeek’s on offer now?’ Nyota asked, her tone implying prior knowledge.  
  
Spock’s eyes narrowed.  
  
‘Am I to assume you played a part in its instatement?’  
  
‘Actually, no,’ Nyota replied, hand up to her mouth as she swallowed. ‘Guess who it was?’  
  
‘Lieutenant Commander Scott?’ Spock predicted, as he was most likely to be seen interfering with machinery.  
  
Nyota set her fork down with a clatter, and frowned. ‘Really, Spock? Scotty’s lovely, but do you think he’d sit there for hours and hours to program in your favourite food? Or even know it was your favourite food?’  
  
Spock wanted to argue the illogic of the word ‘favourite’ – Vulcans did not have  _favourites_  – but that particular urge was overridden by the realisation that the only person with such knowledge and technical skills was-  
  
‘Jim,’ he breathed, eyes wide. He raised them to Nyota’s. ‘Jim did this.’  
  
She only smiled in response, but it faded after a moment, turning melancholy. It had been a mutual decision to end their relationship, a week or so after Jim was brought to Terra for healing, but it was at times like this Spock wondered whether she regretted it. The thought made him uncomfortable, for as much as he liked and admired Nyota, both of them knew that he had not been as invested in the relationship as she had. He dropped his gaze to his soup and concentrated on eating, realising how long it must have taken Jim to program the dish in – countless hours without prompting, for Spock’s sake. He would have to thank him. Nyota was still watching him as he finished his soup, chin resting on her palm, and her own dish clean.  
  
‘Strange that the Captain didn’t come to eat, huh?’  
  
Spock hadn’t even noticed. Guilt furled in his stomach as he searched the mess, only to confirm that she was right. Jim either ate with Doctor McCoy, himself, or the navigators, but today, the medical team had finished shift late due to an accident in engineering, and he had overheard Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant Sulu saying that they were going to visit the nursery after Alpha. Now that he thought about it, both Doctor McCoy and the navigators being absent was not an uncommon occurrence, and Jim would not ‘intrude’ when it was just he and Nyota. Spock wondered who Jim ate with on such days. He wondered if Jim was lonely.  
  
‘I believe he is in need of sleep,’ he replied eventually.  
  
Nyota’s expression became something wicked, the corners of her lips curling upwards.  
  
‘Are you two..?’  
  
She left the sentence hanging, and Spock, taken by surprise, pretended not to understand. In retaliation, she kicked his shin under the table.  
  
‘Don’t try and lie to me. I’m not naïve,’ she informed him, folding her arms. ‘Are you two together?’  
  
‘A ridiculous notion,’ Spock blurted, still shocked.  
  
Nyota scowled, hissing, ‘How so? You devoted yourself to him for the entire year when we were grounded, and he’s obviously got a thing for you.’  
  
The latter piece of information was new to Spock, whose heart fluttered disobediently in his side.  
  
‘From what evidence did you draw that conclusion?’ he asked evenly, using curiosity as a mask for his eagerness.  
  
‘You’re telling me that you haven’t noticed him staring all moony-eyed at you? He does it a lot, you know, and he doesn’t like it when you’re with me all the time. You should spend more time with him, Spock, if you want anything to develop, but I do wonder why he gets so anxious when we go for lunch. Maybe it’s just the new guy being jealous about the ex.’  
  
Spock was reeling from these revelations – and revelations they were, having never considered that the Captain would see him as anything other than a friend – when he noticed the flaw in Nyota’s logic.  
  
‘I have never told him that our relationship terminated,’ he admitted quietly.  
  
‘What?’ Nyota fumed. ‘Why on earth- Spock, he’s your best friend! Don’t you owe him that at least?’  
  
‘That information is personal, and-’  
  
‘Spock, I saw you cry for him.’  
  
Spock had opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. It was true. His mother’s death had been agony; a tearless, numbing agony that had sent him reeling. Jim’s death, however, had destroyed him. A man he had known for less than a year had threatened to rip away the controls he had been building his entire life. Was it surprising that after a period in which he indulged himself by being close to Jim, he had then pulled away?   
  
‘I saw you stroke the glass separating you,’ Nyota continued heatedly, the words forcing him to remember that which compromised him. ‘And then I saw you try to kill the man who had caused his death. You-’  
  
‘Enough!’ It wasn’t quite a shout, but it was loud enough to draw the gaze of crewmen on neighbouring tables. ‘Enough.’  
  
Nyota quietened, chastised. Spock shivered under the weight of such memories, but managed to get himself under control, muttering an apology to her under his breath.  
  
‘It’s alright, Spock, but seriously… you should tell him. Or I will.’  
  
They made eye contact for a long moment, and Spock was the first to concede. He nodded sharply, eliciting a bright smile from Nyota.  
  
‘Good. Now, weren’t you going to show me something on the lyre?’ she asked, getting to her feet and collecting her bowl and cutlery. Spock followed suit.  
  
‘Indeed. Perhaps we should utilise one of the recreation rooms, if the Captain is sleeping?’  
  
‘Works for me, Spock. Best not interrupt the Captain’s beauty sleep – not that he needs it.’   
  
She wheeled round from where she was leading him down the corridor, pointing at his chest.  
  
‘Don’t tell him I said that,’ she ordered.  
  
‘Of course,’ Spock agreed, but thought that she was right regardless.  
  
Hours later, after an enjoyable music session, and a game of cards in which he had thoroughly trounced the competition, Spock had left Nyota singing with a guitarist in the rec room and gone to complete his reports for the day. Once situated at his desk, he noticed with a sense of unease that he could hear nothing from the Captain’s room. He was never intrusively loud, but had enough energy and bad sleeping habits that Spock could often hear restless movement well into the night if he strained his ears. Although he ignored the urge to check on him as long as he could, by the time he had finished his first report without hearing anything, he was becoming alarmed. Setting his padd down on his desk, he stood and strode through the adjoining bathroom to knock on the door to Jim’s quarters.  
  
‘Captain?’ he called, rapping smartly.  
  
When he received no answer, he tried again, knocking harder. His stomach dropped when there still came no reply, and he fumbled for the door release, expecting to find him collapsed or bleeding, but not…  _that._  Curled up in his chair, padd clutched to his chest, Jim was sound asleep. Spock allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. He contemplated leaving Jim there, lying awkwardly with lips parted and breath whistling through his teeth, but his position looked like it would leave him with joint pain the next day. Spock first slid the padd out from his grip and went to switch it off, noticing that the file opened was one of his lab entries. He wondered what the Captain had been doing, reading those. He wasn’t fond of unnecessary work, on top of the considerable amount that he was faced with every day. Deeming it inconsequential, Spock turned it off, and studied Jim, working out the best way to move him. He slid one arm through the crooks of his knees and the other across his back, and lifted him carefully, letting his head fall onto his chest. To other humans, he supposed, Jim’s muscle mass would make it troubling to carry him, but to Spock, his weight was negligible. He lay Jim on his bed, slowly, as he had curled his fingers into Spock’s shirt, whining when he tried to pull away. Spock took the time to prise his hands off the fabric, shuddering as their fingers came into contact, and reprimanding himself for it severely. When he was finally free, Jim became restless, grasping for him as if he knew he was there, so Spock took one of the extra pillows from the end of his bed and pressed it into his hands. Jim immediately pulled it inwards and snuffled against it. If he was predisposed towards such emotional conclusions, Spock would say he looked endearing. He didn’t realise he’d been staring until Jim shifted up the bed, sock-clad feet scrabbling against his duvet as he tried to get comfortable, eyelids beginning to flutter. Alarmed, Spock melted backwards into the shadows, thankful that the door release was silent.   
  
He was almost through when – ‘Spock,’ Jim whimpered.  
  
Spock froze in the doorway, waiting for more, but Jim only sighed and rolled over, legs curling around the pillow as he clung to it like a limpet. He was still sleeping. Spock, an odd weight settling in his chest, went to finish his reports.  
  
For the second night in a row, Spock was roused by the sound of vomiting. He almost groaned, having forewent meditation for the sake of recovering the hours of sleep he had lost the night before, but caught himself at the last second. He knew that Jim would be suffering more than he. Staggering from his bed, not bothering to tell the computer to raise the lights, he pawed at the door release and cringed as it opened to reveal artificial brightness that stung his eyes. Jim was bent over the toilet, retching, full body shivers rippling through him every few seconds. Spock fixated on his spine, jutting out sharply as he hunched over.  
  
‘Spock?’ Jim croaked, barely able to catch his breath before another wave of sickness took him. His voice was filled with despair. Perhaps against his better instincts, Spock advanced and knelt beside him, hand ghosting over his sweat-soaked hair. The nausea hit him as on the previous evening, so strong it was almost overwhelming, tinged with a pain which Spock attributed to the acid reflux on his oesophageal tissue, and a headache caused by dehydration. He reached forward and placed his hand against Jim’s forehead, frowning at the heat radiating off the clammy skin. Jim leant into the cool touch with a blissful sigh, but it wasn’t long before he was wracked with coughing again, convulsing as he brought up the remainder of his stomach contents. Eventually, he sat back, struggling from his knees to his backside. Spock noted that the red marks present on his skin from kneeling would probably bruise.  
  
‘Spock,’ Jim whined, grasping in the air with a plaintive expression. ‘Toothbrush?’  
  
Spock obliged, standing and tugging down his pyjama shirt (ignoring Jim’s obvious amusement), before retrieving the toothbrush and paste to hand to Jim.  
  
‘Why didn’t you just put the paste on?’ Jim asked, struggling with the tube.  
  
‘I did not know how much you would like.’  
  
‘I wasn’t going to measure it,’ Jim laughed. ‘But if that’s a crack at how bad my breath is now, I understand.’  
  
With toothpaste covering the entire head, he began furiously brushing, avoiding Spock’s stare.  
  
‘’ou know, s’weird ‘ou watchin’ me.’  
  
He obediently averted his gaze, until Jim staggered over to the sink and spat out the toothpaste, rinsing his mouth out, before slumping against the wall.  
  
‘God, I hate being sick.’  
  
‘Indeed.’  
  
He was about to broach the subject of Medbay when Jim’s hand grasped for him, and he flinched, relaxing when he discovered it was only in order to finger the black silk fabric of his shirt sleeve.  
  
‘Nice jammies, Spock,’ Jim grinned.  
  
‘They are Starfleet regulation,’ Spock replied defensively.  
  
‘Hey, I wasn’t criticising. Mine aren’t.’  
  
He gestured at the white boxer shorts that he was wearing. The Captain, Spock noticed, had regained a significant amount of the muscle tone he had lost while weakened after his… death. Two of Jim’s fingers had remained hooked in his sleeve, and they tugged to get his attention as his eyes unfocused, momentarily lost in the horror that had been the Khan incident.  
  
‘Hey,’ Jim laughed, sounding nervous, ‘you okay there, Spock? I’ll forgive you if you were fixated on my hot bod – people often are.’  
  
‘Right now, Captain, you are pale and sweat-saturated. I do not think anyone would be fixated on your ‘hot bod.’   
  
‘Ouuuuch,’ Jim frowned, though it quickly evaporated as he whispered, ‘still said I had a hot bod though.’  
  
The corner of Spock’s mouth twitched. He drew himself up to his full, not inconsiderable height, and his eyes bored into Jim’s, letting his sleeve slip from his grasp.  
  
‘Captain, you must be treated for this illness.’  
  
Jim let out a breath that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl.  
  
‘Spock, we’ve been over this,’ he insisted.  
  
‘Yes. Last night,’ Spock retaliated, ‘when you assured me that it was only a temporary illness. This is the second consecutive day on which you have been unwell, and your temperature is bordering on feverish. I will contact Doctor McCoy.’  
  
He turned to enter his quarters.  
  
‘No, Spock, please!’  
  
The plea was desperate enough that it gave Spock pause, and he turned back to Jim. Propped up against the bathroom wall, he made for a rather unimposing figure, but his eyes were focused and intense.  
  
‘Captain-’  
  
 _‘Jim.’_  
  
‘Jim,’ Spock corrected. ‘I cannot allow this malady to continue unchecked. Your wilful disregard for your own safety is concerning,  _for your own sake_  as much as anyone else’s.’  
  
Jim settled back down from where he had begun to protest, and let his head fall back against the tile with an audible  _thunk._  He watched Spock for a while, both resentment and a flicker of fear visible on his face. Spock was unrepentant; as the Terran idiom went: it was for his own good. Finally, Jim lifted a finger.  
  
‘How about we strike a deal? Tomorrow, I will go to Medbay,  _if,_  and only  _if,_  you come with me.’  
  
The request was startling. Spock had been prepared to decline a great many suggestions, but this had not been one of them.  
  
‘You wish for my presence in Medbay?’ he confirmed.  
  
‘That’s what I said, yeah,’ Jim mumbled, seeming uncomfortable as he brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. ‘It’s just, I hate anything medical, Spock - hospitals, clinics, doctors, you name it. Bones’ll be nice and all, but I can’t shake that feeling. You’d be there as- as moral support!’  
  
‘Moral support,’ Spock echoed, then nodded. Jim slumped backwards in what looked to be relief. ‘I believe I can empathise with your situation, Jim. As a child, and one of the few Human/Vulcan hybrids on the planet, I was subjected to many medical assessments and treatments, which I now understand to have been mostly unnecessary.’  
  
If he listened carefully, Jim might have heard an undercurrent of bitterness creep into Spock’s tone as he remembered the cold, clinical faces of the Vulcan doctors and their endless probing.  
  
‘Unbeknownst to my parents, the medical professionals involved in my case were mostly interested in my physiology, rather than committed to my health. I recall that I found these tests disconcerting.’  
  
Jim’s face was twisted with sympathy, and Spock thought that it might have been a mistake to divulge such personal information.  
  
‘Thank you,’ Jim whispered, and Spock wasn’t sure if it was tears or the light, but his eyes looked brighter than ever, a shade of cerulean that he found unnatural, but fascinating. He speculated internally as to whether it was anything to do with Jim’s odd place of birth, and the radioactivity involved therein.  
  
‘You are welcome. You also deserve my thanks, Jim,’ he replied, remembering his dinner in the mess. ‘I understand it was you who programmed Plomeek soup into the replicator. That must have taken a number of hours.’  
  
‘Yeah, well, it was nothing. You’re welcome,’ Jim muttered, and Spock was surprised to see twin spots of colour appearing on his cheeks.  
  
‘As we are both on Beta shift tomorrow, after breakfast I will escort you to Medbay to see Doctor McCoy.’  
  
‘Sounds good to me,’ Jim beamed, standing up, presumably to return to his quarters now the sickness had abated. Spock was beginning to feel the weight of two nights of interrupted sleep, and turned to go back to his own bed.  
  
‘Wait.’  
  
As he had that afternoon, Spock stopped in his tracks, this time facing the door.  
  
‘Did you put me to bed last night?’ Jim asked tremulously.  
  
He had no reason to lie.  
  
‘I did.’  
  
There was a brief pause, and Spock fought the urge to turn and look at him.  
  
‘Thanks for that,’ Jim said, the way his mouth formed the words made it sound as if he were smiling. Then, he swallowed audibly. ‘I don’t think anyone’s done that for me before.’  
  
The obvious question hung in the air between them, but just as Spock was not fond of people mentioning his mother, from previous experience, it seemed that Jim wasn’t either. He did not look back, but he tilted his head to show he was listening; a small concession.  
  
‘Again, you are welcome,’ he replied softly. ‘Goodnight, Jim.’  
  
As he entered his own quarters, he heard Jim return to his. He slept easier that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I'd have it up this week! Not sure exactly when the next one will be, since I'm really busy right now, but I'll try my best to aim for having it up in the next two weeks :) Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Feel free to check out my [Tumblr!](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)


	3. Like I've Never Seen The Sky Before

Normally on a day when he was on Beta, he would have slept longer, but Spock wanted them to go to breakfast together, and Spock got up at the crack of Satan’s ass every day. The shrill beep of Jim’s alarm wrenched him out of what had been a comfortable bout of REM sleep, and he mourned the loss of it as he got ready sluggishly, tired right down to his bones.  
  
Ah,  _shit._    
  
Bones.  
  
Last night when he’d agreed to go to Medbay had felt like a long way from today. Jim knew it was stupid to be so nervous about going to see his best friend, but this wasn’t about him. From those who had turned a blind eye to Frank, to those who had pulled him kicking and screaming from the hell that was Tarsus, doctors had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. Even when it was Bones, gruff, kindly, I-hate-what-you-do-not-who-you-are Bones, Jim still felt a frisson of fear when there was a hypo hovering above his neck, and he hated himself for it. But either way, he’d promised Spock, whose trust Jim never wanted to break. Steeling himself, he pulled himself up off his bed and walked through the bathroom, coming to a standstill outside Spock’s door. He heard him pottering around his quarters, getting ready, and he wasn’t sure why that made him smile, but it did. It was there, with a dazed grin on his face, that Spock found him moments later when he pressed the door release. His left eyebrow twitched upwards.  
  
‘H-hey, Spock,’ Jim beamed, trying to salvage the embarrassing situation. ‘Ready to go?’  
  
‘I have yet to shave,’ Spock said blankly, running a hand over his jaw. As Jim stumbled backwards to let him in, he could see a faint shadow of dark hair running down from Spock’s cheek to his neck. He wanted to run his tongue along that neck, he mused, fixating on it with hungry eyes, but Spock might actually choke him to death this time. Worth it? Maybe.  
  
‘Oh, do you want me to leave?’ he asked, as Spock gathered his shaving paraphernalia, passing so close by him that Jim felt the air ripple between them, and shivered.  
  
‘I do not mind your presence.’  
  
He used a pulse razor, or course. Jim preferred straight razors, ancient as they were, and wasn’t sure why. He leant against the closed door, Spock’s side, and watched him shave. That arched, pale neck, the gap beneath in which Jim felt like he might just fit, those sure, long-fingered hands, which Jim wanted to hold and stroke and kiss and worship and see whether he’d shudder in pleasure like the rumour mill said Vulcans would; he wanted Spock to fall apart and be put back together under his touch. All in all, pretty inappropriate things to be thinking about your First Officer of a morning. If Spock had noticed him staring, he didn’t say anything, though he must have wondered about the absence of Jim’s incessant babbling. He finished shaving with a flick of his wrist, and Jim watched him put the razor away, itching to run his hands along newly-smooth skin.  
  
‘Now I am ready, Captain,’ Spock said coolly, turning to him.  
  
‘It’s Jim, remember!’ he chirped. ‘We’re off duty, Spock.’  
  
‘I agree that we should dispense with formal titles while alone, but when with the crew-’  
  
‘Spock, we’re still in our bathroom,’ Jim pointed out. ‘Promise I’ll call you Commander in front of anyone else. Not Bones though, he doesn’t give a crap.’  
  
Spock frowned, but he said nothing, gesturing for him to lead the way out through his quarters. When the door opened, a couple of ensigns were passing and stared, one leaning over to whisper to the other as they entered the turbolift. Confused, Jim turned to his blank-faced First Officer.  
  
‘We have just exited your quarters through the same door, Captain.’ Spock explained dryly.  
  
‘Oh God, that’ll be all over the ship soon.’  
  
Jim waited for a reply, a flicker of expression,  _anything,_  but it never came. Rolling his eyes, he traipsed after the ensigns to the now-empty turbolift, Spock in tow. The mess was mostly empty, apart from the vestiges of Alpha, who were five minutes from the start of their shift. Instinctively, Jim looked for Bones, but figured that the grumpy ass must already be in Medbay when he couldn't see him. He grabbed some oatmeal and a banana for breakfast, already feeling guilty about the burger from last night, then slumped down at a table in the corner, Spock following like a duckling. He’d chosen fruit, of course. They ate in silence for a while, but Jim soon began squirming in discomfort, and tried some small talk.  
  
‘So,’ he blurted, with nothing else prepared to say. Spock looked up expectantly from his precisely cut apple, cutlery hovering. Jim floundered. ‘… How’s the lab work going? Terraforming, huh?’  
  
‘I would have thought you knew how the experiments are progressing,’ Spock replied, dark eyes fixed on his, and Jim wouldn’t -  _couldn’t_  - look away, ‘seeing as you have read my personal lab entries.’  
  
Jim felt sick, and this time, he knew it wasn’t because he was ill. He felt himself flush ugly, ugly red, his cheeks and ears burning. He didn’t know what to say. And all the while, Spock  _stared,_  and it frightened Jim because he couldn’t tell if it was approving or damning, or just not fucking bothered, and for some reason, the latter option he feared more than anything.  
  
Eventually, he gathered the presence of mind to mutter, ‘yeah, well, it’s different on paper.’  
  
Before Spock could say anything, he shovelled the last of his oatmeal into his mouth and got out of his chair, because he couldn’t be there right now.  
  
‘Bathroom,’ he muttered to Spock’s questioning look, sitting there alone with his meal half-finished, and sped out of the mess. He must think Jim had some kind of horrible bladder problem, or  _worse,_  but he’d rather that than sit there and end up looking more even pathetic. Of course Spock knew he’d read the lab entries, because he was stupid enough to fall asleep with the padd still on. Who did he think had put it away – Jesus? If there was any divine being who’d put him to bed last night, it was Spock.  
  
Thankfully, no one was in the bathroom when he burst through the door. He knew he couldn’t be in here for too long or Spock would get suspicious, but he’d made such an idiot of himself, even the thought of going back was embarrassing. Jim stood over the sink and examined himself in the mirror. After he’d been sick last night, the nightmares had prevented him sleeping again until after five. It was enough sleep to function on, what with the impromptu nap he’d had in the afternoon, and the few hours before the nausea had woken him, but the point was that it showed in his face. He dragged his fingers down from the sunken skin beneath his eyes and sighed. There was nothing that would stop Bones noticing that particular shade of purple. Realising that time was probably up, he splashed his face with some water and hoped that Spock wouldn’t find him too disgusting – not that it mattered in the end, because he already thought he was a creepy weirdo stalker. Taking a long, slow breath, he walked out of the bathroom.  
  
‘Captain.’  
  
Jim’s stomach jolted as he noticed Spock standing right outside.  
  
‘Jesus, Spock, don’t scare me like that!’ he half-laughed, hand pressed to his chest, but he was dying inside. Spock had such amazing hearing that he was probably aware that Jim had been standing at the sink for five minutes poking at his own face instead of peeing like he was supposed to be. Unfortunately, Jim couldn’t tell if that was true, because Spock, as ever, was poker-faced.  
  
‘I apologise,’ Spock said calmly. ‘I finished my breakfast and cleared the table, and you had still not returned. Shall we go to Medbay now, Captain?’  
  
‘Oh God,’ Jim moaned, flapping his hand at Spock when he opened his mouth. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine, let’s go.’  
  
For a second or two, he’d forgotten what he’d agreed to do last night. He let Spock take the lead as they walked, dragging his feet and humming a funeral dirge under his breath.  
  
‘You are not going to your death, Captain. You are going to Medbay.’  
  
‘Same thing,’ Jim squeaked, as they rounded the corner to their destination. He didn’t feel sick anymore, but his head and heart were pounding, a steady, climbing pulse that echoed through his ears. He fought the urge to make a grab for Spock’s hand as they entered, the clinical, lemony smell making his eyes water and his temples throb. As they came through the doors, Nurse Chapel came out of the storeroom, a tray of startlingly sharp scalpels in hand.  
  
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, obviously surprised. ‘Can I help you, Captain? Commander?’  
  
Her eyes lingered on Spock’s face, soft and wide, and again, Jim was hit with a sudden, irrational jealousy. Didn’t she know he was attached? How could she look at him like that when her best friend was his partner?  
  
‘We’re here to see Bones,’ Jim told her, trying to be pleasant, but he couldn’t stop a little bit of hostility leaking into his voice. Her face flushed and she nodded, rushing off to do whatever she’d been preoccupied with before. He could feel Spock’s eyes burning into the back of his head.  
  
‘What?’ he snapped, starting off towards Bones’ office. Being there was getting to him now, what with the smell and Chapel’s simpering and the various torture tools guised as medical equipment scattered around the room. He could be forgiven for being rude.  
  
‘You were uncharacteristically harsh with Nurse Chapel.’  
  
‘Spock, do you see the way she looks at you?’ Jim asked, incredulous. ‘That’s wrong, that is  _so_  wrong, when you’re going out with her best friend.’  
  
Spock looked like he was going to reply, but then they were outside Bones’ office and Jim froze in place, fist raised to knock. After a few seconds, Spock reached over his shoulder and rapped on the door for him, but before Jim could say thank you, Bones called ‘Come in!’, and he was herded inside. The office was slightly more comforting than Medbay in general, what with Bones’ various odds and ends; a picture of Joanna sat on the corner of his desk, and Jim could see the top of a bourbon bottle peeking out of a drawer. Yet it still stank of medical-grade soap, the smell tickling the back of his throat and making him gag. The man himself sat behind his desk, scribbling away at some report in his spidery handwriting. Jim had once offered to give him lessons to improve it, but he had found that insulting (‘Dammit, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a calligrapher!’), arguing that he was too busy dealing in cardiac arrests and lung punctures to be bothering about that. When Bones caught sight of them both, he gave Jim a funny look, putting his pen down.  
  
‘What can I do for you…?’ His sharp eyes slid over to Spock. ‘Commander?’  
  
‘It is not I who needs medical attention,’ Spock said impassively.  
  
Jim had sunk into the background, just behind him, and he gave Bones a painful grimace from the shadows. This didn’t seem to deter his friend though, who regarded him with an almost gleeful twinkle in his eye, mouth fallen open.  
  
‘Holy Christ!’ he exclaimed. ‘Jim’s down here voluntarily?’  
  
Spock tipped his head noncommittally, and replied, ‘In a manner of speaking.’  
  
‘Spock, you’ve managed to do something I’ve never done – should I be jealous?’  
  
‘I would never advise you to endorse negative emotion which could affect your work ethic,’ he denied, hand gently pushing Jim forward from where he was trying to slip behind him again. ‘The Captain-’  
  
 _‘Jim.’_  
  
Spock paused, taking in Jim’s glowering expression.  _‘Jim_  is unwell.’  
  
‘Not really, just last night.’  
  
‘That is incorrect, Doctor. Jim was also ill the night before last.’  
  
‘You little tattle tale,’ Jim hissed, feeling betrayed.  
  
‘Vulcans do not lie,’ Spock countered, staring him down.  
  
Bones’s head was swinging from side to side like a tennis match spectator as he watched them argue, and Jim got the distinct impression that he was enjoying himself. That was, until, he snapped into the dreaded ‘doctor mode’.  
  
‘Symptoms?’ he asked, producing a set of gloves from seemingly thin air.  
  
‘Uh, first of all? You’re not gonna need those,’ Jim promised, alarmed. ‘And second, you know I’m allergic to latex, come on!’  
  
Bones narrowed his eyes, blowing into one and snapping it on, ‘Good thing these aren’t latex then. Symptoms, now.’  
  
‘Well, I’ve been sick a few times, and, uh, a bit headache-y.’  
  
‘Headaches where?’  
  
‘Sort of here?’ Jim said uncertainly, fingers circling around his temples.   
  
Bones got up from behind his desk and pressed the affected area gently. ‘Here?’  
  
‘Yeah.’  
  
‘Could be migraines?’ he suggested, thumb pulling down his lower eyelid, and clicking on a miniature torch that temporarily blinded him. ‘That would explain the nausea as well.’  
  
‘Light doesn’t bother me though,’ Jim added, flinching away from the probing fingers. ‘It was real bad yesterday, but that might be because I had no sleep the night before.’  
  
Bones made a humming sound in acknowledgement, before, ‘Wait. Why the hell didn’t you sleep? I thought you looked beat when you came in.’  
  
‘He was too busy vomiting,’ Spock explained softly. Jim could feel him hovering just behind him, within touching distance, and it was comforting. He wondered whether his closeness was unintentional, or whether anything he’d said last night about hospitals freaking him out had made an impression.  
  
‘On both sides?’ Bones asked, interrupting his thoughts.  
  
‘What?’  
  
Bones rolled his eyes.  
  
‘Pay attention, dumb shit,’ he scolded. ‘The headaches, are they on both sides?’  
  
‘Yeah.’  
  
‘Not cluster headaches then,’ Bones mused, pressing his temples. ‘Could be tension headaches. You stressed?’  
  
‘Not any more than usual,’ Jim offered, pleased when he stopped poking at his head.  
  
‘Still think it might be migraines. Not everyone presents the same symptoms. You had a fever or anythin’?’  
  
‘His temperature was above the norm last night. I have also noticed a certain amount of digestive complaints-’  
  
‘Spock!’ Jim yelped, scandalised.  
  
‘No, he’s right to tell me, Jim. For God’s sakes, man, I see worse every day. Now  _that_  could be gastroenteritis, because it can cause vomiting as well. But it’s usually caused by food poisoning, and I don’t think you’ve got that, because you’d be on the toilet all day…’  
  
As Bones continued yammering to himself, Jim drifted off into a daydream about a world where Spock was less interested in how many times he went to the bathroom, and more interested in ploughing him into the mattress every night. He was so much in his own head that he didn’t notice the approaching hypo until it was too late. Bones jammed it into the side of his neck and he squealed, hand cupping the affected area and glaring daggers at his best friend.  
  
‘What the fuck was that for?’  
  
‘Don’t be such an infant,’ Bones grumped. ‘It’s a mild painkiller, for the headaches. And this one…’  
  
His hand shot up, quick as lightening, and got Jim on the other side of his neck.  
  
‘Oh my fucking God, this is assault, I swear!’ he whimpered, reaching back to tug on Spock’s sleeve. Spock indulged him, letting his arm be pulled about like a marionette’s limb. ‘What was  _that_  for?’  
  
‘Nausea. Look, bottom line is that I don’t think it’s anything serious. These are all pretty run of the mill symptoms, but if your headaches persist, I want you to come back to me, okay?’  
  
‘Yes, mother,’ Jim sneered, one hand still firmly attached to Spock’s shirt, the other flattened over his latest Bones-induced injury. Bones gave him a look, seeming almost reluctant as he pulled his gloves off, the rubbery squeak making Jim shudder – and not in a good way.  
  
‘As for you,’ he drawled, bypassing Jim in order to hand Spock something, whose sleeve slipped from his grasp yet again. ‘Seeing as there’s no way this one’ll take his meds when he needs to, I’m giving you executive control when I’m not there. The blue one’s for nausea, the green one’s a painkiller, and the yellow one’s for insomnia. I trust that you’ll send him to me if he gets worse?’  
  
Jim could only spin round, gaping, to look at Spock, who nodded sharply. ‘This is unbelievable. Guys, I’m an adult, you know. A  _Captain.’_  
  
‘No, you’re a baby,’ Bones scoffed, flicking the back of his ear. ‘A little baby Captain who needs coddlin’.’  
  
‘Hey-’  
  
‘You cannot disagree that you are somewhat lackadaisical when it comes to your health, Jim,’ Spock added.  
  
‘This is an outrage!’ Jim insisted angrily, cradling his poor, abused ear. But then something wonderful occurred to him, and his lips curled into a lazy smile. Bones watched him, as wary as a deer in headlights. ‘… Wait. Are you two agreeing?’  
  
While Spock raised an eyebrow, Bones side-eyed him and muttered something unintelligible to himself, beginning to shoo them out of his office, and slamming the door behind them.  
  
‘Don’t forget the hypos!’ he called through the metal. ‘Or I’ll tie you to a damn bed!’  
  
‘Kinky!’ Jim shouted back, narrowly avoiding a test tube that was hurled at him as the door banged open again. They made a swift exit from Medbay, passing by a confused Nurse Chapel without a word.  
  
‘Crazy bastard,’ Jim said fondly as they slowed, before letting his voice slip into a terrible mimicry of his accent. ‘God love ’im.’   
  
‘It is true that his methods are unorthodox. However, I do…  _agree_  that your health needs to be monitored more closely than it already is,’ Spock conceded, tucking the hyposprays away in a pocket.  
  
‘Why are you all so obsessed? I wouldn’t bother if I were you.’  
  
They entered the turbolift again, but as they began their ascent, Jim saw Spock’s jaw twitch out of the corner of his eye. Surprised, he looked up to see blazing eyes burning into him, intensely enough to make him grope for the button to stop the lift’s trajectory. It juddered to a halt between Decks 4 and 5, and all the while, Jim had not torn his own gaze away from Spock’s, who looked almost as angry as the day he’d been strangled. He repressed a whimper, hating the fact that his breathing was quickening, because he knew Spock would be able to hear it in the silence. Dry-mouthed, Jim dared to reach up to Spock’s face with one trembling hand, pushing down all of his dangerous, covetous emotions as the tips of his fingers brushed one high, cold cheekbone, and his palm rested against a smooth cheek. Spock’s eyes softened ever so slightly, but the fury was slowly being overtaken by something akin to panic, so Jim allowed himself one last stroke of his thumb against his skin before letting his hand drop. The silence was becoming oppressive.  
  
‘Go on,’ he said, breaking it. His tongue darted out to swipe across his lower lip, and Spock’s gaze followed it. ‘We’re alone here. Say your piece.’  
  
Spock took in an audible breath through his nose, before biting out, ‘It is in insult to both myself and the crew to say that we should not ‘bother’ about your health.’  
  
‘Oh, Spock, I didn’t mean it like that,’ Jim soothed. ‘I know you guys ca-… are loyal and all, but you’ve got more important things to worry about.’  
  
Shit, he’d almost slipped up there. Any mention of his emotions and Spock closed up faster than Jim’s asshole when faced with one of Bones’ prostate exams. Jim tipped his head to the side and shrugged, a small smile playing about his lips. Spock, instead of calming down, seemed even more incensed. His eyes were almost black, the normally warm brown irises almost entirely engulfed by his blown pupils, and they followed his movements like a cat’s did a bird, just as they had when Jim had told him he didn’t love his mother. Jim knew he should probably be frightened, but when he shivered under his penetrating stare, it was out of arousal, not fear. Knees weak, he told his very interested dick to pipe down.  
  
‘What concerns me the most,’ Spock growled, his low tone setting a fire burning in Jim’s belly, ‘is that you have so little concern for your own wellbeing. It is almost as if you invite death.’  
  
Jim shifted uncomfortably.  
  
‘I don’t wanna die, Spock.’  
  
As if he hadn’t spoken, Spock continued, ‘And it disconcerts me that you think I would not place value on your life.’  
  
‘No,  _Spock_ , I-’  
  
‘It disconcerts me, because if I am not mistaken, I am…’ here he paused, his gaze faltering for the first time since they had entered the turbolift. ‘I am your friend.’  
  
Jim smiled so widely it was almost painful, and he didn’t hesitate this time to touch him, fingers curling around his bicep.  
  
‘Of course you are, Spock. This is gonna sound so cliché, but please believe me when I say it’s not you, it’s me.’  
  
Spock looked adorably confused with his head tilted and brow furrowed. ‘I do not understand.’  
  
Jim was so full of affection for him that he felt like he might just melt into a puddle at his feet. His heart felt so fit to burst that he thanked every god out there that Spock was probably wearing three layers of clothing, and couldn’t feel how much he wanted to tear them off right now. His grip tightened on his arm, grappling with the desire to kiss him.  
  
‘I’ve been, shall we say, a little blasé about my health for a very long time, okay? My brother always said I had a self-destructive streak, and it’s been the case since we were kids.’ Jim fell silent for a moment, sobering with the memories of that old farmhouse in Iowa. ‘And it’s only gotten worse as I’ve got older. Fact is, you guys are always going to come first. The crew, the ship, my duties, whatever. Because you’re worth more to me.’  
  
He caught and held Spock’s wide-eyed gaze for a long moment. Then, Spock swallowed, Jim watching the slow bob of his Adam’s apple, before his eyes flicked to where Jim’s hand was still clasped around his bicep. Reluctantly, Jim loosened his grip and let his hand slide down his arm as he removed it.  
  
‘I shall endeavour to change your mind about that, Jim,’ Spock rasped, so close that his breath tickled his cheek. Jim didn’t know if it was his own fucked-up feelings causing him to hallucinate, but he could feel the air crackle between them, and his breathing sped up because Spock’s lips were so close, so close now, and it would be so easy to just reach over and-  
  
‘Cap’n?’ came Scotty’s crackly voice. ‘Is there somethin’ wrong wi’ the lift? I cannae see any problems doon here.’  
  
Jim sighed internally, resenting the missed opportunity. He leant against the wall to press the intercom button.  
  
‘Nah, I think it’s fine, Scotty,’ he said, reaching for the emergency stop again, only to find Spock had already pressed it, and the lift was climbing again.  
  
‘Everythin’ looks in order now, Cap’n.’  
  
‘Yeah, it is, thanks,’ Jim sighed, letting go of the intercom button. He knew the moment had been lost, and sure enough, when he looked round again, Spock was on the other side of the lift, as far away as he could possibly get in such a small space. Jim was surprised how much that hurt. When the lift came to a standstill, Spock was out, quick as lightning.  
  
‘Want to spar before lunch?’ Jim asked hopefully.  
  
Spock wouldn’t meet his eyes as he replied, ‘I am to supervise an experiment in Laboratory Three.’  
  
Jim’s shoulders slumped.  
  
‘Right, well, I guess I’ll see you later. Lunch?’  
  
‘I am not sure how long the experiment will take,’ Spock muttered.  
  
‘Oh, okay.’  
  
Before he had even closed his mouth, Spock was gone, and he was left staring after his rapidly shrinking back, aching for him.  
  
Déjà-fucking-vu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm nothing if not punctual! Hope you guys enjoy, and you can always reach me at my [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)!


	4. I Will Surely Break

Spock did not need to be in Laboratory Three. If asked, he would disagree that he lied, though he might concede that he had twisted the truth in order to avoid Jim. He regretted that he had hurt him by leaving so abruptly, especially after such a conversation, but the fact remained that he had come dangerously close to sexually assaulting a senior officer. That was unacceptable. The ensigns engaged in terraform research suffered under his particular attention that afternoon, as he tried in vain to erase Jim’s presence from his mind. Every time he thought he had succeeded, another image appeared of him pinning his Captain against the wall and claiming the lips that suffered under the constant swiping of his tongue, soothing them with his own…  
  
‘Commander?’  
  
A quavering female voice cut through the fantasy occupying his mind, and he looked up, startled. Ensign Ruutel stood before him, padd held out to him like an olive branch, while a number of similarly cowering others hovered behind her.  
  
‘I do not require a report until Beta shift,’ Spock said slowly.  
  
Ruutel shifted, mumbling, ‘It’s 1545 hours, Commander.’  
  
Spock’s eyebrows raised, inwardly in shock as he noted that indeed, it was that time already. He took the padd from her hands and scrolled through the report, scanning the main points. Still no change.   
  
‘You are dismissed,’ he said absently, deciding to attempt to mellow his approach when he saw how the ensigns scurried out of the room. As he left for the Bridge, he wondered why the experiment wasn’t working - it should, in theory, and he had left his most able subordinates in charge when he was not there. Nevertheless, there was no time limit on its success; as the Captain so often stated, they were ‘killing time’. It mattered not. His duties came first.  
  
He entered the Bridge eight minutes before shift, only to discover that the Captain was already there. This was unprecedented on Beta shift, as he was often occupied in the afternoons, whether with sparring, or bothering the doctor, or helping out in Engineering. His restless energy, while conducive to swift work, was tempered by his propensity to become distracted with other activities. Jim looked pale again, his head propped up on one palm and his elbow resting on the arm of his chair. Spock pressed against his pocket discreetly to ascertain the whereabouts of the hyposprays Doctor McCoy had given him, should they be required.  
  
‘Hey, Spock,’ Jim smiled, as he swung round in his chair and caught sight of him. ‘You alright?’   
  
His eyes were faintly red-rimmed, Spock noticed with a jolt, as if he had been crying. Guilt twisted in his stomach as he considered the admittedly high probability that he was the cause of Jim’s tears, and he stepped forwards in concern, fingers twitching at his side as if to reach out to him.  
  
‘Spock?’ Jim repeated, the smile dropping from his face. ‘Are you alright?’  
  
Spock blinked.  
  
‘Yes, Captain. Are you also… alright?’  
  
The phrasing was awkward and it sounded so as it escaped his mouth. Luckily, the rest of the Bridge crew were otherwise occupied with their duties, and did not notice his discomfort. Jim, however, watched him with narrowed eyes crinkled at the corners, an expression of worry so sincere that he felt even worse for having misled him earlier.  
  
‘I’m fine, Spock,’ he murmured, beckoning him closer with a forward lean and crooked fingers.   
  
As he obliged, Jim opened his mouth to speak again, but Spock beat him to it.  
  
‘I am concerned that you are unwell,’ he said lowly, conscious that nearly all the handovers had been done, and that the crew, mostly prying young humans, would likely listen in. ‘Are you in need of the medication Doctor McCoy has provided?’  
  
Jim shook his head. Spock wasn’t entirely convinced of his wellbeing. Along with the pallid nature of his skin, he could see a slight tremor in his hands when he lifted them as he often did while talking, punctuating his speech with passionate gestures Spock found hypnotic. His eyes fixed on those shaking hands, and in turn, Jim flexed them against the chair arms, the white-knuckled grip of his fingers stilling the aberrant movement.  
  
‘I’m not ill,’ Jim reassured him. ‘I’m just tired. Look, I-I’ll tell you when I feel bad, okay?’  
  
While still not completely swayed, Spock dared to hope that their conversation in the turbolift had yielded more than just unresolved tension, and furthermore, that the threat of Doctor McCoy’s wrath would entice Jim into turning to him before he became too unwell. His eyes burned into Jim’s for a long moment, the weight under which he squirmed uncomfortably, but the connection held. When he removed his hands from their iron grip on the armrests, they had stopped shaking.  
  
‘If you are certain,’ Spock intoned. ‘You will tell me if any symptoms appear.’  
  
It was a statement rather than a question, leaving no room for disobedience, and Jim’s expression developed a mutinous edge. At first, it looked as if he would argue, but after a beat, his mouth snapped shut with the medial pterygoid muscle twitching in his right hand side. Spock felt compelled to reach forward and still the muscle with a touch of his fingers, to prevent the probable jaw pain that would follow, but deemed it inappropriate. Unaware of his inner turmoil, Jim jerked his head up so infinitesimally that even Spock had trouble discerning it as a nod, and looked away. Apparently the conversation had ended. He returned to his station without another word.  
  
Enterprise was rapidly approaching the new planetary system, and Spock spent the entirety of his shift engrossed in the unprecedented readings beginning to appear at his station, only looking up when he caught Jim’s shiver. It was 10.5 minutes before the end of their shift. Having not allowed himself to become distracted with thoughts of the Captain in the last 7.83 hours, Spock had increased his productivity by 0.28%. Fascinating. His relief was early, hovering behind him, and so he decided to let him take over, waiting by the Captain’s chair when Jim cast pleading eyes his way.  
  
‘Hey, Spock,’ he smiled, pulling his sleeves down over blue-tinged fingers. It seemed that all was forgiven. ‘S’cold tonight, huh?’  
  
‘I am neither colder, nor warmer, than I am on any other shift, Captain,’ Spock replied calmly, neglecting to mention that, as per usual, the temperature was below what was comfortable for him.  
  
‘Oh,’ Jim said, and Spock felt as if he’d failed some sort of test. He did not need to touch him to know that he was dismayed. Jim’s relief arrived moments later, and as he stood to leave, he stumbled, knees seeming to weaken.  
  
‘Dead leg,’ he laughed awkwardly as he righted himself.  
  
Spock wasn’t so sure. As they left the Bridge together, he accosted him.  
  
‘Jim, do you need your medication?’  
  
‘No! Christ, will you stop nagging?’ Jim complained. ‘I’m just cold, okay? And I know what’ll warm us up.’  
  
Spock braced himself for the most lewd of suggestions.  
  
‘Let’s go spar! We’re on Beta again tomorrow!’  
  
He was momentarily thrown, which greatly reduced the chances of Jim believing that he needed to be involved in any alternative activities. Even when he attempted to invent previous engagements, his efforts came to naught. He had run out of excuses. He nodded his agreement and Jim’s smile grew impossibly wider, lighting up his face in a way that made Spock almost forget why he was trying to resist contact with him in the first place. Almost. The flames that Jim’s sweet face fanned inside him were a stark reminder of the feral beast that lurked within him, ready to pounce as soon as his control wavered. He let Jim lead him to the gym, and to the officers’ section, partitioned off. When exercising normally, both preferred to remain with the rest of the crew, but when sparring, even on nights like this when the gym was mostly empty, they attracted so much attention that it was easier to remove themselves. As soon as the door closed, Jim’s Command gold and black undershirt were being tugged off, and Spock admired the straining muscles revealed in his back and arms. He remembered Jim forcing his wasted limbs into action after he’d woken from his coma, the agonising frustration experienced by them both as he struggled with even the most basic of tasks, and marvelled at how far he had come. If he were to compare Jim’s physicality now to what it was before the Khan incident, he would estimate that he had become even more muscular. Suppressing the escalating lust that he was experiencing, Spock pulled the hyposprays from his pocket and tugged his own Science Blue off, folding it neatly, but decided to leave his undershirt on. He feared that if he touched Jim skin-to-skin, he might transmit his desire to him, and all would be lost. As a last measure of defence, he raised his shields, strongly enough that no trace of emotion would be granted exit or access.  
  
‘You sure you won’t get too hot like that?’ Jim asked, a tone to his voice that sounded almost hopeful.   
  
He was a vision, bare to the waist; the cold air of the gym had raised the hair follicles on his arms, and his nipples stood erect in little peaks that Spock’s mouth watered to seal itself over. His rippling pectorals drew Spock’s appreciative gaze more now that he was not so unwell, strongly defined, so tantalisingly unlike Vulcan structure. Jim shifted, and he remembered with faint embarrassment that he had been asked a question.  
  
‘Not at all. Vulcans do not sweat,’ he replied hastily.  
  
‘Yeah, but I do,’ Jim parried. ‘You’re gonna need a shower anyway, sorry.’  
  
‘No apologies are needed.’  
  
They kicked off their boots and faced one another on the training mat. He did not know why Jim kept requesting to spar with him, because he rarely won, unless Spock was taken by surprise. His superior strength, and his training in Suus Mahna were more than enough to negate Jim’s clumsy attempts to best him, however enthusiastic. Still, no matter how many times he ended up on the floor, Jim continued to ask. His relentless determination was nothing if not inspiring.   
  
‘C’mon, Spock,’ Jim encouraged, circling him like a hungry le-matya. ‘I’m ready, c’mon.’  
  
Spock fell into a defensive stance, but when it was clear he was not going to attack, Jim huffed, and threw himself forward. The first punch was blocked deftly with an open palm, which closed over Jim’s fist and pulled downwards, forcing his body to bend, and allowing Spock to lift him bodily from the floor, before slamming him down on the mat. He heard the breath hiss out of him as he landed, but was given no time to be concerned as Jim sprang to his feet and hooked an ankle around the back of his knee, applying enough pressure to bring Spock down. Kneeling, he reached back for Jim, kicking one leg out to trip him, and brought him down to the mat again, standing over him. His shields flickered as he watched him breathe raggedly, lips parted and eyes half-lidded. In Spock’s view, this particular match was over, but Jim had other ideas. On his feet only moments later, he sank a fist into Spock’s solar plexus, causing his diaphragm to spasm, and he gasped for breath, momentarily vulnerable to further attack. Jim lunged for him again, and this time, he was not prepared. They both fell to the mat, grappling with one another, frustration clear in Jim’s bright eyes as he fought for the upper hand. Eventually, winded though he was, Spock managed to roll them over, slamming Jim back against the mat with both hands pinned under one of his. Arousal surged in him, battering against his weakening shields as they both panted, a curious flush to Jim’s face. Spock shifted over him, and stiffened when he felt what was undoubtedly an erection pressed against his thigh. Jim’s eyes were fixed on his in wary desperation, and as he pushed his thigh down in experimentation, a shaky breath stuttered out of him, his chest rising and falling in an uneven, climbing metronomic rhythm. Though the very idea was illogical, time seemed to slow as they stared at one another: Spock, teetering on the very edge of his control, and Jim, head tilted upwards and throat bared in apparent submission. Spock dipped his head until he was inches from the delicate skin of his neck, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. Jim smelled like sandalwood and fresh sweat and the hypoallergenic shampoo that he used, and it was a combination that intoxicated him more than he could imagine any other achieving. The temptation to claim him was almost unbearable.  
  
‘Spock,’ Jim whispered breathily, all but his mouth completely immobile as if not to frighten him away.  _‘Spock.’_  
  
Though his shields still held strong, Spock’s willpower was failing. His lips were very near to brushing the smooth skin beneath them when he caught the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching, and he scrambled to his feet, leaving Jim lying confused and splayed out on the mat below. In a careless attempt to preserve his modesty, Spock stepped in front of him, and hoped that he would be able to quell his biological urges quickly. The door opened to reveal a couple of giggling ensigns, who stopped short on seeing their Commander.  
  
‘S-sorry, sir, we’ll go,’ one blurted, who seemed to be trying to suppress a smile. Ensign Matthews, Spock believed. He had an unfortunate habit of laughing when nervous. The other, an Andorian female who Spock did not recognise, said nothing. They left much as they had entered – stumbling over one another. They had not seen the Captain.  
  
‘Spock?’ Jim said quietly.  
  
He did not turn around, disgusted at himself for almost losing control. He could have seriously harmed the Captain had they not been interrupted. With no small amount of shame, he recalled how he had almost asphyxiated Jim for claiming he had not loved his mother, only to later find out that he was not acting out of his own will. He would not allow himself to make instant judgements about him without comprehensive data ever again, for Jim’s sake, as well as his own.  
  
‘It is time for me to retire Captain,’ he murmured. ‘Perhaps you should as well.’  
  
Then he all but fled from the room, snatching his Science tunic from the floor and ignoring Jim’s further distraught cry of his name as he did so, telling himself that this distance was for the best. It was likely a passing fancy on Jim’s part, and he would not endanger him by indulging it, no matter how much his blood burned for him. He strode purposefully through the corridors, passing by straggling crewmembers without a word, as he could not bear to speak until he had cleared his mind of the desire that had infiltrated it, threading its way through his body and making him react in such an unsavoury manner. By the time he reached his quarters, almost sprinting now, he was holding his tunic over his groin to hide his own burgeoning erection, a spontaneous reaction he had not had in years.   
  
With a hand slammed on the door release, he staggered into his room just as an unknown redshirt turned the corner at the end of the corridor, heart hammering unnaturally fast in his side. He willed himself to calm, fumbling for his incense candles, and raising the temperature. He breathed in the scorching air, refusing to self-stimulate though he burned for release, and slowly, but surely, his arousal dissipated, replaced once more by deep shame. Jim’s state of excitement may have been a simple physical response to accidental friction rather than a true measure of desire. In continuing to pin him to the floor and test his reaction to stimulation, Spock had crossed a boundary that he had erected to keep Jim safe. He remembered how he had yearned to bury himself in the soft, pliant body beneath him, and shuddered in disgrace.  
  
The incense candles he had lit emitted a strong, cloying smell that he welcomed, for it drowned out the echo of Jim’s scent still resting on the back of his tongue. As he folded himself into the familiar meditation pose, he let his hands bury themselves in his tunic, in the vain hope that his fingers would forget the softness of Jim’s own within his, forming a new, safer muscle memory. With hands twisted in the familiar blue, he closed his eyes against the afterimage of Jim’s open, heated expression, and began.  
  
 _‘Spock!’_  
  
 **[left alone on the floor in the gym and he cries out for him-]**  
  
 _‘S’cold tonight, huh?’_  
  
 **[no more than usual but his hands are blue and Spock worries-]**  
  
 _‘Look, I-I’ll tell you when I feel bad, okay?’_  
  
 **[but he won’t, he won’t, and he itches to make him well-]**  
  
 _‘Oh, okay.’_  
  
 **[disappointed again, and Spock is lying]**  
  
 _‘you’re worth more to me’_  
  
 **[but you are everything]**  
  
 _‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you.’_  
  
 **[you are everything]**  
  
Spock emerged from his meditation shaking, with shields forced upwards against the relentless lashing of emotion that Jim inspired within him. For now, they were both safe. He got to his feet and stretched sore muscles, ready to sleep. Tomorrow, he would spend his time until Beta in the laboratories again, although this time, he would try to be more affable towards the ensigns. However, as he went to change into his pyjamas, he realised that he had left Jim’s hyposprays in the gym. He could not allow them to be lost. When he strained his ears, he could hear the faint sounds of Jim wandering his room, and was thankful that retrieving them would not bring them into contact, as it was likely that Jim would have regarded his swift exit as rejection rather than a necessity for his own wellbeing. Not bothering to put his tunic on, Spock set off back the way he had come an hour before.  
  
He encountered no one on his way, which was unsurprising considering it was the middle of both Gamma shift and ship’s night. The gym was also empty, its blinding lights sensing his presence and blinking on to reveal the rows of unused exercise equipment. Spock continued on to the officers’ section. The hyposprays were where he had left them on the floor, but so was Jim’s Command gold, the admittedly low-quality fabric torn almost in two. After pocketing the hyposprays, Spock walked over to where it had been abandoned on the mat, and picked it up to examine it. It smelled like Jim. On the other side of the room, he could see that a punch bag was now hanging from the ceiling, with a few ominous red stains smeared at shoulder level. Upon closer inspection, Spock realised that they were spaced as knuckles were, spattered crimson on white, and he imagined Jim dragging himself from the mat, punching and punching until his skin split and bled, and he wished briefly that he had given his hands something better to do. He explored the dry blood with shaking fingers, concluding that the stain was as irremovable as Jim’s imprint upon his mind, and returned the punch bag to its proper place. Tunic in hand, he returned to his quarters, and to bed.  
  
The next morning, Spock found that the liquid contained in the yellow hypospray he had left on his desk was depleted. Obviously, Jim had suffered from insomnia in the night, and had not wanted to wake him – whether because he felt it unnecessary, or because he was still distressed, Spock did not know. Jim did not appear in the mess for breakfast, during which both Doctor McCoy’s accusatory gaze and thinly-veiled threats were focused on him, nor for lunch, and it seemed that he need not have attempted to avoid him in the laboratories. When they were called to the Bridge at 1330 hours, Jim emerged from his quarters as Spock arrived at his to retrieve the hyposprays, looking as if he had just woken. Spock was pleased that he had at last gained some rest. Although evidently trying to avoid his gaze, he waited outside the door as Spock collected what he needed, and they entered the turbolift together. He eyed Jim discreetly as the doors closed, rumpled hair and haphazard clothing rendering him a charming figure, but his knuckles were bruised and scabbed over.  
  
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump you,’ Jim said acidly, as he caught him looking. While anger tinged his voice, his eyes were dull, and filled with a profound misery that made bile rise in Spock’s throat. Before he could speak to deny he was thinking such a thing, the doors opened on to the Bridge, and the opportunity was lost. Jim’s face transformed into something far more jovial as he greeted his crew.  
  
‘Anyone care to tell me what’s going on?’ he asked, settling into his chair as it was hastily vacated by a female Lieutenant.  
  
‘We’re coming up on the first planet in the system, Captain,’ Sulu told him.  
  
‘Great! What’s it like down there?’  
  
Spock, who had returned to his own station, replied, ‘The planet has an oxygen-rich atmosphere – certainly breathable by Humans – and sensors indicate that there are a number of indigenous species similar in size and composition to those inhabiting Terra.’  
  
‘Intelligent life?’ Jim questioned.  
  
‘There is no sign of humanoids, although that does not necessarily mean there is no intelligent life. However, there are no visible settlements, at least on the north side facing this system’s star.’  
  
‘So a landing party would be safe?’  
  
‘It seems so,’ Spock said slowly, realising that he would have to try and dissuade Jim from visiting the planet. He was still unwell and who knew what foreign bacteria could do to his delicate immune system? Although he knew it was an underhanded move, he tapped out a message to Doctor McCoy on his padd.  
  
 **Spock:**   _Doctor McCoy, Jim is under the impression that he is fit to beam down to the planet._  
  
‘Fantastic!’ Jim exclaimed, clapping his hands together. ‘Let’s get a landing party together! I need a security team ready to beam down in ten. Spock, you up for some science-ing?’  
  
His expression was brighter than it had been for weeks, and Spock hated what he was going to have to do to him.  
  
‘Of course.’  
  
 **McCoy:**   _Does he really think I’m going to let him do that? Who knows what’s in the damn air! I’m coming up._  
  
He bowed his head and turned back to his station as Jim excitedly began compiling the landing party, the oft-present guilt that twisted within him when he upset Jim arising once more. He did not need to hear Doctor McCoy’s voice to know that he had entered the Bridge, what with the way he stomped across the floor, boots hammering on metal.  
  
‘Captain, Commander, if you could come with me a moment.’  
  
Both duly obliged, but Jim was already frowning when he stood, trying to exchange a curious glance with Spock, who simply avoided his gaze. Doctor McCoy led them into a ready room, in which Spock let him address the issue at hand.  
  
‘Jim, I’m gonna be straight with you. You’ve got less chance of going down there today then I have of seeing Jojo this Christmas.’  
  
Immediately, Jim looked outraged.  
  
‘What?  _Why?_  I’m fine, for God’s sake- wait…’  
  
He turned to Spock, his face furious and betrayed all at once.   
  
 _‘You_  told him, didn’t you? As if you haven’t done enough to hurt me!’  
  
Spock jerked backwards as if he’d been slapped. To his horror, he could feel his cheeks and ears beginning to burn, and he opened his mouth to speak, but as once on Terra, he could not respond adequately to Jim’s emotional words. Doctor McCoy’s sharp eyes alighted first on Jim’s injured hands, then on him, a curl to his lip that spoke of retribution, before slowly,  _slowly,_  he turned back to Jim, with a much kinder expression. Apparently, reassuring him was more important than threatening Spock. Just.  
  
‘Jimmy, look, we’re not doing this to spoil your fun,’ he said imploringly, stooping a little to move into his uncooperative eye line. ‘I know how much you like exploring new planets, but it is my medical opinion that you should not go down there, especially as I’m not sure if you’ve recovered yet.’  
  
Both Spock and McCoy held their breath as Jim considered, plucking at the seams of his Command gold with his index finger and thumb, his arms crossed over his stomach. The plucking had reached violent levels (and Spock had feared that his poorly-made tunic might fall apart), when he finally responded.  
  
‘Fine,’ he gritted out, red-knuckled hands dropping from his tunic and squeezing into fists at his side.  
  
Doctor McCoy started to speak again, but his communicator interrupted.  
  
 _‘We have another engineering accident, Doctor,’ came Nurse Chapel’s resigned voice. ‘We’re in need of your assistance.’_  
  
‘Aw, hell!’ he snarled. ‘You’d think Scotty has them bungee jumping off the warp core for all the blood we see from Engineering. Thanks, Nurse, I’ll be there in two.’  
  
‘Look, I gotta go, but I’ll talk to you later, okay?’  
  
Jim nodded stiffly, his posture no less defensive than before, but he attempted a smile. Doctor McCoy rubbed his arm – a move that made Spock feel a sudden illogical frisson of jealousy – and smiled back, before he made to leave, backing towards the door.  
  
‘Buck up, tiger,’ he told Jim. ‘I’ll see you later. And  _you-’_  
  
He pointed at Spock as he hissed, ‘We’re going to have a little chat when you get back.’  
  
He was out of the door before Spock could reply. As the doors closed, he and Jim were left alone; a situation that he would previously have enjoyed, but the alternate sour and wounded looks that were being cast his way were modifying his opinion. He cleared his throat.  
  
‘Jim, I-’  
  
‘Save it, Spock,’ Jim growled, blinking back tears as he started for the exit.  
  
‘No, James, please,’ Spock said desperately, grasping his upper arm loosely. ‘Please listen.’  
  
In a mirror of their conversation in the bathroom two nights before, Jim remained facing away, but Spock regarded the fact that his feet were no longer moving as a personal victory. Through the fabric of his clothing, he could feel faint echoes of hope, and grief, and longing, and he removed himself lest he be corrupted. Jim trembled as his hand left him, and Spock was struck by how fragile he seemed beneath the thin veneer of anger. He would have to tread carefully.  
  
Swallowing, he began, ‘I am not trying to deprive you of that which you love. I am trying to keep you safe.’  
  
It was not clear whether he was talking about preventing him from joining the landing party, or the events of the night previous, but to Spock, his words had dual meaning. He watched Jim intently as he waited for a reply, hands clasping behind his back so he could not use them to fidget, or worse, reach out to take him into his arms as he so dearly wished to do. After a long, drawn-out moment, Jim turned on his heel. Shoulders hunched, and hands clutching his tunic at opposite sides, he was curled in on himself in the manner of a timid child. Bright, wet eyes flicked about his face, as if for confirmation.  
  
‘I am trying to keep you  _safe,’_  Spock repeated softly, letting just the slightest hint of emotion spill into his tone, if only to comfort him.  
  
The defensive posture gradually eased, and while he did not yet smile, the lines etched into his forehead smoothed out, lips loosening from their tight, straight line. His communicator bleeped, startling them both.  
  
 _‘Captain, the landing team is ready. We just need Commander Spock, if you’re done with him?’_  came Scotty’s thick brogue.  
  
‘For now,’ Jim murmured, a phrase that made the hair on the back of Spock’s neck stand up, before raising his voice. ‘Yeah, I’ll send him down, thanks Scotty.’  
  
 _‘No problem, Cap’n.’_  
  
As the communicator clicked, they were left alone in the silence. Spock could feel the weight of their words pressing down on them, and made another abortive gesture before him.  
  
‘Be safe down there.’  
  
It was not a request. Jim reached up and combed through his hair with his fingers, and Spock pushed back against the delicious feel of the tickling pressure on his scalp.  
  
‘I will endeavour to be just that,’ he replied, letting the corner of his lips curl up, having found that he found Jim’s reaction to his ‘not-smile’ satisfying. Sure enough, Jim’s own lips quirked upwards, and he hit Spock playfully on the arm, failing to hide his subsequent wince.  
  
‘Stop that!’ he scolded, rubbing the offending knuckles. ‘I’m mad at you, you know. C’mon, let’s go.’  
  
He made for the door just as Spock’s hand brushed over his pocket.  
  
‘Wait, Jim.’  
  
As he turned back with a quizzical glance, Spock handed him the hyposprays that he carried with him at all times.  
  
‘I will take these back when I return, but while I am gone, I expect you to pay close attention to your health. I am trusting you.’  
  
It was somewhat of an underhanded move, to use such emotional language, but he knew that Jim would not refuse him anything because of it. His Captain took the hyposprays and placed them in his own pocket, the quirk of his lips having transformed into an uncertain smile.  
  
‘Thanks, Spock,’ he said tenderly, affection clear in his voice, before turning to leave.  
Spock, as always, followed. Once in the transporter room, he took his place at the helm of the group, while Jim hovered by Lieutenant Commander Scott at the controls. The last thing he saw before the light enveloped them was the genuine smile lighting up Jim’s face.  
  
‘Commander. Any orders?’  
  
The head of the security team, Lieutenant Hendorff (affectionately referred to by the Captain as ‘Cupcake’), was by his side as they arrived on-planet. The immediate vicinity was green and hilly, similar to verdant areas of Terra, with what appeared to be a forest within 50 metres. Spock gestured to the Science ensigns that had also beamed down.  
  
‘Collect samples to take back to the ship. Lieutenant Hendorff and colleagues, please scout out the area. We have not yet confirmed if the planet is uninhabited.’  
  
Just on cue, as the ensigns scattered to examine the plant life, the ground began to shake, and five colossal dinosaur-like beings emerged from the treeline. Spock had little time to examine them, as they advanced swiftly on the panicking group, and he called for an urgent beam up.   
  
‘Requesting immediate return, I repeat, immediate return to the ship. There are-’  
  
There was an almighty knock to his cranium, sending him flying backwards, where he landed awkwardly facing upwards, head swimming. Spock dimly wondered why the sky was turning black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I have learnt while writing this chapter: 
> 
> \- I hate the word ‘nipple’
> 
> \- You can use burned or burnt even though I’ve been taught all my life to use the latter
> 
> \- I couldn’t remember the colours of Jim’s hypos if there was a phaser to my head
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy, and you can always find me at my [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Updates will be within the next 2 weeks.


	5. Let Him Be; Let Him Live

All in all, Jim’s night had gone as follows:  
  
     1. Abandoned on the gym mat by Spock, he started crying like a baby as soon as the door shut, cursing him for leaving, cursing Uhura for being with him, and cursing himself for being such a fucking wimp.  
  
     2. Eventually, his anger overtook his pain, and he ripped the fabric of his stupid shirt trying to wrench it back over his head. He went a few rounds with the punchbag, going at it until his knuckles were bloodied and aching, smearing red across his face with every wipe of his leaking eyes.  
  
     3. He crept back to his quarters to avoid the inevitable gossip about his face and his hands and  _‘oh my God, did you see? I think he was crying!’,_  kicking Spock’s door as he passed and regretting it immediately. In the shower, washing away the blood, sweat and tears, Spock was all he could see and hear and feel and smell, and he could still taste the cool breath mixing with his. He got rid of his newly-returned erection the only way he knew how, muffling his cries with an arm slung across his face as come splattered across his chest and dripped from his hand, and imagined that it was Spock who’d wrung an orgasm from him. He cried again.  
  
     4. Every time he dropped off to sleep, he dreamt of Spock, and woke in fresh agony. In the end, he plucked up the courage to go to his quarters to find the hypospray that would put him in a coma for 8 hours. When the door opened, lighting a narrow strip of the floor, he didn’t look at the bed. He tiptoed across the room in the dark, feeling his way around. He didn’t look at the bed. He fumbled around on Spock’s desk until he found the hyposprays, bringing each up to his eye until he found the yellow one and pressing it into his neck. He didn’t look at the bed. He made his way slowly back, thankful that Vulcans didn’t leave things lying about on the floor, and then Spock made a noise in his sleep, and he  _looked at the fucking bed._  Jim cursed his eyes for adjusting to the dark, because he could make out the way his features had softened, his lax, parted lips, and that perfect bowl cut all in disarray. Jim had thought he might have slept like he stood, all wooden, straight limbs and tilted chin, but instead, he was curled in a cocoon of blankets, long eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Jim wanted to touch him so badly, but he knew he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He knew it probably wouldn’t be long before the light coming through from his quarters woke him anyway. With one last yearning look, he passed back through, and a minute or two later, passed back out.  
  
He’d slept right through until the call came through from the Bridge, and then there was barely a moment to think of Spock, until they met outside his door. It was a horrible dilemma: his head told him that he should back the fuck up, let him know he was angry, but his heart (and Jim was always,  _always_  swayed by his heart) told him to wait. He did. The rest of the morning passed in a blur of repressed anguish, interrupted by a brief sense of excitement as the planet was sighted, until he realised that Spock had betrayed him to Bones. Most of the time, he’d let something like that slide, but Spock  _knew_  how much he loved exploring new planets. He knew, and deceived him anyway. Jim was ready to let loose as soon as Bones left, but the words caught in his contracting throat as he saw no guilt on that blank face, so leaving seemed the better option. But Spock, as usual, had managed to change his mind.   
  
 _‘I am not trying to deprive you of that which you love. I am trying to keep you safe.’_  
  
What did that mean? Apart from the obvious, of course. Was Jim’s affection-addled brain making it sound more cryptic, or was there really another meaning to his words? He really didn’t want Spock to beam down there without him to watch his back. Selek had always told him that his Jim was almost always the one to save him, and vice versa, but he had let Spock go anyway. Stupid.  
  
Jim hadn’t even managed to get back to the Bridge when a medical team came running his way, and a breathless Scotty called him back to the transporter room. Jim was already sprinting. The room was in a panic when he arrived, Bones and his nurses flitting around with various pieces of equipment, hovering over what were evidently bodies in the most grotesque states; that was Eberhardt with his head almost clean off, and Chakma with her guts spilling out on the floor, her eyes dull and unseeing, and Spock,  _oh God, Spock!_  
  
Jim wasn’t sure what sound he made as he lurched towards his First Officer, but it was enough that Bones looked up from the gaping wound in Spock’s head, blood staining his hair dark green and dripping into the shell of his ear, to signal for a hypospray. Jim barely felt the gentle push of sedation, dropping shakily into a crouch by his best friend and the man he-  _oh Christ, he loved Spock! He loved him, he loved him, please, please let him live, oh God, let him live._  Heart hammering, he watched Bones anxiously as he examined the wound, and called for a stretcher.  
  
‘He’s gonna need surgery,’ Bones decided, lips set in a thin, grim line.  
  
‘Is he going to be okay?’ Jim asked, a pleading note in his voice. ‘Bones?’  
  
His only reply was a clap to his shoulder, as they loaded Spock onto a stretcher, still and silent and deathly pale. He wanted to follow, but there were six dead and three seriously injured, and he had letters to write to their families, and two more babbling survivors to listen to. Still, when the stretcher left the room without him, Jim’s chest burnt in the worst of ways.  
  
‘Captain.’  
  
It was Cupcake, head lolling backwards as his twisted body was examined by a nurse.   
  
‘Hey,’ Jim smiled, turning first to the nurse. ‘Will he be okay?’  
  
‘Yes, it’s just a lot of broken bones, Captain,’ he said, signalling for another stretcher. ‘Might be painful, but we’ll get him fixed up in no time.’  
  
‘That’s good. Want to tell me something?’ he asked Cupcake.  
  
‘Don’t send anyone else down there. They came out of nowhere, Captain, and they were huge, like dinos.’  
  
‘I won’t,’ Jim said softly, heart twisting in sympathy as he watched him grimace. ‘I promise.’  
  
One by one, the wounded and the dead were taken away, and Jim made his sorry way back to the Bridge once he’d heard what the two uninjured had to say. Every step was heavy, like wading through water, as he thought about the lives lost for nothing, and Spock, whose own may or may not be forfeit. The very thought made him retch, and he fumbled for the blue nausea hypospray, stabbing it into his neck. The sickness may have subsided, but his fretting did not.  
  
Upon entry to the Bridge, he was inundated with questions.  
  
‘Keptin, Keptin, is ze Commander okay?’  
  
‘What happened down there?’  
  
‘Is Spock injured?’  
  
He waved a hand to quiet them, weariness settling in his bones.  
  
‘The landing party were attacked almost as soon as they arrived, by giant creatures that we know very little about. Six are dead, three are seriously injured – that includes Spock. He’s in surgery right now.’  
  
The last, he directed at Nyota, whose worried eyes had fixated on him from the beginning. He felt suddenly ashamed of his conduct, throwing himself at a man who was already attached, and to somebody as wonderful as Uhura – despite what the nasty little voice in the back of his head said.  
  
‘Nobody is allowed to see him yet, or I’d be down there,’ he explained with a heavy heart. ‘We’re going to remain here until the landing party are stabilised.’  
  
 _Or dead,_  the nasty little voice reminded him.  _He could die yet!_  
  
He quashed it, replacing it with thoughts about the creatures below, and ordered more detailed scans to be conducted, if only to distract the crew from their own concerns. He sat in the chair, fidgeting, for the remainder of his shift, and as soon as the clock turned midnight, he was bolting for Medbay. Most of the original Bridge crew had already gone, as he’d caught the tail-end of Alpha when he’d been called up earlier, but he’d made them promise that they would inform him if anything had changed. Still, they couldn’t have been there for eight hours. There was still hope. When he arrived, he stumbled past the row of sleeping crewman – no others dead, thank God – and collared Nurse Chapel as she appeared. Jim didn’t even have to ask before she shook her head.   
  
He couldn’t breathe.   
  
He felt his knees give way as his brain fought to process the stream of  _dead dead dead dead,_  and he barely heard Chapel as her mouth moved incomprehensibly. Suddenly, she slapped him, and the shock of pain brought his ears back above water.  
  
‘You’ve misunderstood, he’s alive, just not out of surgery.’  
  
He clutched her arm as the air came flooding back into his lungs, leaning his forehead against her shoulder as he shivered violently, filled with relief like the rush of feeling coming back into a dead limb.  
  
‘He’s alive,’ he confirmed, closing his eyes.  _‘Oh,_  you frightened me then, Nurse.’  
  
‘Sorry, Captain. Could you let go now?’  
  
He jumped backwards, loosening his grip as he scrambled to his feet, giving her a tired smile.  
  
‘Thanks. You guys have done a great job today,’ he praised. ‘If we ever get to a planet without giant monsters, I’ll try and arrange some shore leave.’  
  
‘You’d better,’ she smiled, checking a readout next to Lieutenant Vaali’s bed. ‘I don’t think Doctors McCoy and M’Benga will be long. The damage was extensive, but they’ve done their best.’  
  
‘Will he be okay then?’ he asked softly. ‘Only, Bones wasn’t too sure before.’  
  
‘Nothing is certain until he wakes, but there’s been no serious setbacks in repairing the wound. I think he’ll be just fine.’  
  
Jim let a breath whistle through his teeth, nodding slowly.  
  
‘And these guys?’  
  
‘All stabilised. There should be no more deaths,’ she smiled, looking a little wan.  
  
‘That’s a relief,’ he murmured, combing a hand through his unruly hair. ‘Listen, I’m gonna go and wait for Bones and M’Benga. Maybe when your shift ends, you should go and get some sleep.’  
  
‘Took the words right out of my mouth, Captain. After you’ve seen he’s okay, you should go and get some yourself. I’ve got a replacement coming in five. Go on.’  
  
She nodded toward the chairs outside the doors separating them from the surgical section, and he duly went to slump in one, hands twisting together as he waited nervously. The clock ticked by, and Jim heard only Chapel’s replacement come in, and the beeping of the machines, and his own laboured breathing, until footsteps approached from the other side of the doors. He staggered to his feet as they opened to reveal the exhausted figures of Bones and M’Benga. Their gowns and gloves were off, but Jim didn’t need to see any trace of blood to know how hard they had worked. Bones rolled his eyes as soon as he caught sight of him.  
  
‘Jesus, Jim, I should’a known you’d be here. He ain’t awake yet, kid.’  
  
‘Is he alright?’ he demanded, edging on the desperate. ‘Bones, please.’  
  
‘Hey, hey, calm down,’ he cooed, large, warm hands settling on his shoulders. ‘Do you need a sedative?’  
  
‘No, I need to know Spock’s okay,’ he hiccupped.  
  
‘Far as we know, he’s gonna be just fine, so calm down.’  
  
‘The head wound looked worse than it was,’ M’Benga added, ‘and Vulcans heal very well. Don’t worry, Captain, he’s going to be okay.’  
  
‘Can I see him?’ he asked urgently, not able to put his mind to rest until he saw him breathing.  
  
Bones’ eyes widened in exasperation, but Jim fancied he saw a fond curl to his lip as he replied, ‘We’re putting him in a private room to recover. Come on.’  
  
He waved M’Benga off to bed as he led Jim back past Theatre 1, which was still being cleaned, and the spatters of green covering the bed were unnerving. Bones motioned him towards a nearby door, and Jim practically ran into the room, barely acknowledging Bones’ withdrawal other than to throw a ‘thank you’ his way. His eyes were only for Spock. His head was wrapped in swathes of bandages, the poor thing, and he didn’t look as peaceful as he had sleeping the night before. Instead, his forehead was scrunched in a faint frown, his fists balled up against his stomach. A thin cut on his face was stitched up. Jim dropped into the chair beside him, unable to resist the urge to stroke the back of his index finger against his cheek, revelling in how soft his skin was, how cool to the touch. Spock shifted infinitesimally in his direction, not stirring, but it was enough for Jim to bring his other hand up and brush through the silky hair covering his forehead. Was everything about him so soft? Jim wondered, and quivered at the thought. He curled up on the chair facing him, one hand falling to rest over one of Spock’s, with no thought of leaving. In time, he fell asleep.  
  
 _‘What the fuck did you do that for, boy?’_  
  
 _Frank looms over him in oil-stained overalls, beefy face ruddy with rage. Jimmy, just turned eight last weekend, cowers next to the broken vase wishing that Mommy had let him and Sammy stay with Nana instead of marrying him._  
  
 _‘I-I didn’t mean to,’ he whispers, voice quiet as a mouse._  
  
 _‘’I didn’t **mean**  to,’’ Frank mocks, jowls a-quiver, and Jimmy wants to kick him real hard, but Mommy said only Bad Boys kick people, and he doesn’t want to be a Bad Boy. He can’t help scowling though, and Frank’s expression twists suddenly into something more dangerous, then his fist is flying towards Jimmy’s face. He howls as it connects, bursting into tears, and his cheek explodes in pain. Frank seems to enjoy that, because he sees his lips form a smirk through his blurry vision, and he is shoved to the ground among the pottery shards._  
  
 _‘You clean this up. Now.’_  
  
 _He walks away, and Jimmy does as he’s told, though the pottery cuts into his young, clumsy hands, and he has to keep stopping to wipe the tears and snot from his cheeks. Later, much later, he calls Mommy in the dark, and she looks busy and tired, and when he tells her what happened to his bruised face, she asks him, ‘What did you do, Jimmy?’, and tells him to be a good boy for Frank. The way she looks at him makes him feel like he was a Bad Boy. It wasn’t the first time he’d ever disappointed her. It wouldn’t be the last._  
  
Jim was sweating when he woke, forehead damp, and hair sticking to the back of his neck. His fingers were somehow laced with Spock’s.  _Spock._  If Jim didn’t know any better, he’d say that he was dreaming, as micro expressions were flickering across his features in quick succession, most of them tormented. It was almost as if he had experienced Jim’s own nightmare. Jim squeezed his hand gently, stroking the outside of his thumb with his own, and tugging the covers up from where they were draped across his chest. He didn’t want him to be cold. At some point, someone must have lowered the lights, because it was darker than he remembered. He wondered what they might have thought about him holding Spock’s hand. Abruptly, he remembered that he was meant to be on Alpha today, and realised that he had absolutely no idea what time it was.  
  
‘Computer,’ he muttered. ‘What time is it?’  
  
‘It is 0700 hours,’ the computer droned, too loudly, and yet Spock still didn’t stir.   
  
Panic began to thread its way through him, but then he remembered that he had a head wound, and he’d been under heavy anaesthesia, and his vitals were being monitored 24/7. He was in little danger here, unlike down on that planet. There was no way Jim would ever let him go unaccompanied again. And by ‘unaccompanied’, he meant without him. As he looked upon the sleeping Vulcan before him, he realised, with great reluctance, that if he wanted to get to Alpha on time, he was going to have to go and have a shower now. Fixing his eyes on Spock’s face to make sure he was still unconscious, he lifted the hand encased in his to his lips, and kissed the knuckles gently, before placing it back on the bed.   
  
‘I… I love you,’ he whispered, the words escaping for the first time, tripping from his lips as easy as breathing, like they were meant to do so.  
  
It was true. It was right. He was fucked.  
  
Most of his typical Bridge crew were also on Alpha, and they eyed him sympathetically, like they knew how he was feeling. He gave them each a weak smile in turn. Spock was conspicuous by his absence. The data being pulled from the atmosphere of the ‘dino planet’ would have been interesting in normal circumstances, but Jim had to fight to even  _look_  like he cared, what with Spock in Medbay and the rolling pain advancing in his head. It was worse than last time, if that was possible, sickening waves of it rippling across his brain, paralysing him. He fought not to make a sound. When the latest surge had mellowed, he gave the conn to Sulu, and jogged from the room as his stomach spasmed threateningly. Thank God he’d remembered the hypos. He burst into the nearest bathroom, rummaging in his pocket first for the blue hypospray, and jabbed it into his neck, expecting the nausea to disappear, but it didn’t. Bewildered, he was forced to make a dash for the nearest toilet and dropped to his knees before it, bringing up what little he’d had to eat that morning. While he retched, he dug for the green and deployed that, but again, the effect was negligible. It took the edge off the pain, made it just about bearable, but it still threatened him at its worst, making his vision blur. When he finally managed to drag himself back to his feet, Alpha was only a few minutes off finishing, and he high-tailed it back to the Bridge (temples still throbbing, but nausea blessedly, blissfully evaporated), and apologised to Sulu.  
  
‘It’s fine, Captain,’ he smiled, as Chekov lingered near the doors. ‘Are you okay?’  
  
Jim didn’t know if he was asking because he’d been gone so long, or because of Spock being in Medbay, but he nodded anyway, cringing ever so slightly as his head pulsed.  
  
‘Yeah, don’t worry about me, guys. Haven’t you got a date in the gardens?’  
  
Chekov went pink, averting his gaze, while Sulu nodded sharply. Jim clapped him on the back.  
  
‘Off you go then. Oh, to be young,’ he grinned as they scampered away.   
  
His communicator beeped, and he almost dropped it bringing it up to his ear. Bones.  _Spock!_  
  
‘Bones?’ he said quickly, almost snapping in his haste to get the word out. ‘Any news?’  
  
 _‘Yeah, hobgoblin’s awake. Has been for a few hours now.’_  
  
‘What? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Jim squeaked, already running.  
  
 _‘He didn’t want to distract you from your work, you know what he’s like. Anyway, I guess I’ll see you in a few.’_  
  
Jim sped down to Medbay, trying to will his hummingbird heart into submission, wishing not for the first time that he had Spock’s control. The turbolift took entirely too long, and he fidgeted as he waited, tapping his foot and his fingers against his folded arms. Finally, the doors opened, and he was attempting not to look like he was running (but he was) past the beds full of unconscious patients, through the doors of the surgical section, down to Spock’s room, and-  
  
 _Oh._  
  
Looked like he already had company. As he drifted in the doorway, he watched as Uhura leant in from the chair in which she was sat, and kissed Spock on the forehead. A lump rose in Jim’s throat at the sight, leaving only an ache behind it. He saw that little not-smile raising the corner of Spock’s lips as she chatted animatedly to him, hand on his arm; Spock never engaged with anyone else like that. They were perfect for one another, he realised, and with that realisation came a tremendous sense of grief. He would give anything for Spock to look at him like that – hell, he’d give anything for Spock to look at him with anything but that blank stare he had adopted as his own. Watching them together, his stomach was in knots, and not like the butterflies that he had learnt to anticipate, but a tearing, sickening pain, like he’d swallowed a razor blade. He saw Uhura’s head begin to turn his way, and quickly melted against the wall beside the door, hands shaking.  
  
‘Hello?’ she called, a question in her voice, but Jim didn’t reply.  
  
He heard Spock’s quiet murmur in response, and then - ‘I was sure I saw somebody. Never mind.’  
  
As silently as he could, Jim leant his head back against the wall, closing his stinging eyes. Fuck, he was better than this. He’d never felt this way about anybody  _ever,_  and it just had to be his First Officer who was already in love with a beautiful woman. He hated his life. After a few minutes of listening to the babble of unintelligible conversation coming from inside, he began to drag himself away, head down. He folded his arms tight across his chest as he went, as if that would contain the wildfire that burned inside of him. Wounded, he came out of the surgical section, and ran straight into Bones, who took one look at his face and dragged him into his office. The door clicked shut.  
  
‘What’s the matter, Jim? Tell me.’  
  
He was so sincere, bless his heart, with his worried eyes and omnipresent frown. Jim gave him a watery smile, wishing that he’d fallen for Bones instead: loyal, dependable, wonderful Bones. But love didn’t work that way.  
  
‘Jim.’  
  
In response, Jim shuffled forwards and pressed his forehead into Bones’ shoulder. With barely a second’s delay, his warm arms were around him, one hand hovering at the nape of his neck, the other rubbing his back. Jim didn’t cry, though he wanted to. His eyes were suddenly dry, and he didn’t know whether it was because he was so tired, or because he was pushing away what he’d seen, but he felt empty. Bones clucked, pulling him backwards slightly to survey his face.  
  
‘That bad, huh?’ he asked sympathetically. ‘You been to see your beloved yet?’  
  
Jim went rigid under his hands, the ache in his throat back with a vengeance. Bones’ eyes narrowed, his frown deepening. Jim answered the wordless question.  
  
‘Uhura was already there,’ he whispered, thick with emotion, afraid that speaking any louder would cause his voice to break, ‘and I-’  
  
He couldn’t say anymore, but that was okay, because Bones knew. His expression cleared in dawning realisation, arms tightening around him as he drew him back into his warmth.  
  
‘I’m sorry, sugar,’ he crooned in his ear, and on any other day, Jim would have hit him for calling him that. Today was not that kind of day. ‘I’m so sorry.’  
  
‘Yeah, me too,’ Jim mumbled, snuggling into the familiar and comforting scent that lay beneath the clinical. His heavy eyelids closed as they stood silent together. Bones kept him upright like he always had since they had met. Eventually, when he felt he could breathe again without fanning the flames inside him, he pulled away.  
  
‘Thanks, Bones,’ he said, unsmiling. ‘Tell- tell Spock I swung by, yeah?’  
  
‘Of course. Hey, Jimmy, why don’t you come down for a drink tonight? Sure look like you need one.’  
  
‘Maybe tomorrow? I’m on Alpha again in the morning,’ Jim suggested.   
  
He needed to be alone tonight, to get out as much of the pain and the misery before too-sharp Vulcan ears were again situated in the next room across. Bones eyed him suspiciously, but then nodded.  
  
‘Fine by me. You know you can drop by to talk any time though.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘I don’t like seeing you miserable, kid, it ain’t you.’  
  
Jim snorted, but the sound was humourless.  
  
‘Yeah, regular sunshine child, that’s me. Anyway, I gotta go. Please tell him I came.’  
  
It was shameful, but he couldn’t be there anymore, not with Bones being so nice and making him want to spill his guts about everything he was feeling. Saying it all out loud would only make it more real. He said nothing more, only gave Bones a tremulous smile as he left, ignoring the look of concern being sent his way. He stumbled out of the office, head down, and if he thought he heard footsteps approaching from behind the surgical doors (and he’s not saying he did), he might have walked just that little bit faster. It was nearly 1700 hours now, and though he knew he should eat, the very thought of going to the Mess and trying to find someone to sit with was unthinkable. It was funny to think that James T Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise, didn’t feel comfortable approaching people, but apart from the Bridge Crew, who were mostly paired up anyway  _(don’t think about them don’t think about **him** )_, there were few others he could call friend. Bones too, of course, but he was always busy and he knew Jim too well, knew the way he felt by the turn of his lip and the flex of his fingers, knew that Spock lit a fire in his belly that both warmed and burnt him. He wanted to be alone. Back in his quarters, he ate perhaps more than he should have, trying to fill the emptiness inside him with the wrong kind of goodness. Afterwards, he tortured himself with thoughts of Medbay, wondering if Spock’s breath caught when Uhura touched him, or if when he kissed her, his heart pounded like Jim’s did when he drew near.  
  
He blitzed his reports with brutal efficiency that night, skimming through the information from Science, eyes squinted, desperate not to read Spock’s words too carefully lest they shatter the thin veneer he’d constructed around his heart. He knew he couldn’t hide from him forever – Spock was his First Officer, for God’s sake! – but for now, he would rather protect himself than fuel the fire. Having neglected his workload for the past few days due to illness – and, well, Spock – he had quite a backlog, and by the time he put down the padd and rubbed his tired eyes, it was already past 10. Somewhere between Denebian flu and warp core maintenance, he had begun to feel too hot, and now he was sweating with no shirt on, the temperature controls down to 16 degrees Celsius. His head was swimming. He slumped down on his bed, pawing at the mattress to figure out which way was up, and fumbled for the hyposprays. Nausea, pain, insomnia, but nothing for whatever he was feeling right now. With a groan, Jim closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep, eventually dropping off in the middle of recounting the Starfleet rules and regulations.  
  
He woke up freezing. His teeth chattered, goosebumps rising on chilled skin, and he cursed himself for lowering the temperature.  
  
‘Computer, temperature to 25 degrees. What time is it?’  
  
‘It is 0126 hours.’  
  
 _Great._  He couldn’t have slept for more than three hours. And on top of his chattering teeth and shivering body, his stomach was beginning to churn again. Jim breathed through his nose and out through his mouth, hoping that the nausea would dissipate, but it only became more potent. He brought the lights up, reaching for the blue hypospray, but as in the morning, it was useless. It was like Groundhog night, he thought, as he made a dash for the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time. He spent the next few hours alternately throwing up and whimpering on the bathroom floor, and this time, Spock wasn’t even there to keep him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, just in time! This one was a toughie to write. Hope you guys enjoy, and as always, you can find me at my [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)


	6. Wishing Only Wounds The Heart

Having an eidetic memory, as all Vulcans do, Spock recalled perfectly the events which had led to his injury. Unfortunately, that did lead to some problems when he regained consciousness to see a figure looming over him.

‘Hey, Spock, stop panicking, you’re- _stop!’_

Spock froze, mid-arm flail, as he heard Doctor McCoy’s unmistakeable Southern drawl. Horrified at his own behaviour, he swallowed, trying to generate enough saliva to apologise, but the Doctor put a hand up to stop him.

‘It’s fine, I’m not surprised you freaked out. Most of the others who’ve woken up have done the same.’

As he pressed a hypospray into his unresisting neck, Spock suddenly realised what he was saying, and asked, ‘How many are dead?’

It was absurd to assume all had lived, what with the sheer scale of the creatures, and the speed at which they had attacked.

‘Six,’ McCoy replied shortly. ‘There shouldn’t be any more, but we’ve a few others injured. Of those that lived, you had the worst chances, but we operated straight away, and – well – you seem fine to me.’

 _Six_ of their group dead within five minutes of being on the planet. Despite the knowledge that there was little he could have done to save them, Spock still felt somewhat like he had failed as a leader. He wondered whether this was how Jim felt when he- _Jim._

‘And the Captain?’ he inquired.

‘… Is fine.’ McCoy frowned. ‘He wasn’t there, y’know, Spock. Maybe your head’s not quite right yet?’

Before he could brutalise him with further unnecessary medication, Spock said hastily, ‘That I recall, Doctor. However, the Captain is rather sensitive to the loss of his crewmembers.’

‘Surprising of you to notice.’

‘I am often aware of my colleagues’ emotional preoccupations, even if I do not share them,’ Spock parried, feeling defensive.

McCoy whistled.

‘Christ, Spock, that’s cold. Don’t you care that they’re dead?’

Spock paused, before saying quietly, ‘I regret that they lost their lives. I cannot express it in terms that a human would, but I regret it all the same.’

McCoy stared at him for a beat, eyes narrowed, before nodding.

‘Fine. But don’t think I’ve forgotten what Jim said before you went down. We _are_ going to have that conversation after you’ve recovered.’

He punctuated his evident menace with another jab to Spock’s neck, harder than before. Caught by surprise, Spock almost winced, pulling his facial muscles back into neutral alignment mere milliseconds after their deviation.

‘I was just gonna call him anyway,’ McCoy continued blithely, as if he hadn’t just made any threats. ‘He asked me to when you woke up.’

‘No!’ Spock blurted, scrambling for a reason for his protestation when McCoy seemed alarmed, hands drifting towards his bandage. ‘Do not disturb him from his duties. It is illogical to distract him when I am in no danger.’

As much as he yearned to be near Jim, he knew that another meeting when he was so vulnerable would likely push him into losing his control, his steel-hard shields turning to paper in his presence. Every time Jim smiled at him, every time he touched him, he chipped away at Spock’s carefully constructed armour, and the potential consequences were too severe to risk.

‘You’ve never had a problem with it before. Something’s going on,’ McCoy accused, arms folding across his chest.

Spock could think of no way to reply to his allegation without lying. He bowed his head and remained silent.

‘Fine,’ McCoy bit out, miraculously conceding, ‘but don’t think this is over, hobgoblin. When you’re better, and Jim won’t kill me for it, your ass is mine!’

And with that dubious exclamation, he swept out of the room. 2.35 hours after his exit, Nyota pulled Spock out of his reverie by knocking on the door, announcing her presence with a cheery ‘guess who it is?’ Spock did not have to guess who it was, and was confused by humans’ preoccupation with such a superfluous phrase.

‘It is Nyota,’ he replied obediently, and she emitted a tinkling laugh as she entered.

‘You know, Spock, I think you mess with us humans more than we mess with you,’ she grinned, flopping down in the chair beside him. ‘So, how are you?’

He would have denied her statement, but he had long since learned that it would be a sheer waste of oxygen.

‘I will have no lasting damage,’ he deadpanned, twitching as she poked at the bandage.

‘Apparently, it was touch and go for a while. Where’s Jim?’

The abrupt change of subject threw him for a moment. He blinked, already attempting to dredge up excuses, even though it was likely they would be useless when offered to Nyota. Opening his mouth, he was about to speak when she silenced him with a hand gesture, frowning.

‘Okay, look, if Jim knew you were awake, he’d be down here. So, now I’m wondering why he hasn’t been told, and I’m 99.9% sure that it’s because you asked Leonard not to.’

‘How did you calculate-?’

‘Cut the crap, Spock,’ she said belligerently, stabbing her finger in the air in syllabic rhythm. ‘Why don’t you want him down here?’

He was silent for a long while, and Nyota tapped her fingernails against the hard plastic of the chair armrest as she waited.

Eventually, Spock whispered, ‘He ruins me.’

Nyota at once became a more sympathetic creature.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, a hand resting on his arm, and he could feel her affection for him in her touch.

‘Whenever he is near, my shields falter. I find I cannot control my emotional reaction towards him as I would anyone else, and that could ruin him also. What would happen if I lost myself to my emotions and attacked him as I did after the destruction of Vulcan?’

He did not often ask rhetorical questions, and the fact that he had showed that he was truly worried. Nyota, however, seemed much less perturbed.

‘Honey, the only way I could see you attacking Jim now is sexually,’ she snorted, patting his arm when he made to argue. ‘No, no. I’m not being facetious, I mean it. Honestly, Spock, I can only see good coming out of this. If you can allow yourself to let go once in a while, then you can direct your emotions positively, and you know Jim would never judge you for that.’

He must have seemed unconvinced, because she smiled, and leant forward to kiss him on the forehead. In return, he let the corner of his lips quirk upwards.

‘I guess I understand why you’re more cautious than you were with me. Our relationship was never going to last, and I feel like you want this one to-… hello?’

Her head had begun to turn towards the exit as she spoke, and now she peered through the open doorway.

‘What is it?’ he asked quietly.

‘I was sure I saw somebody. Never mind. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Get your shit together with Jim, okay? You know he stayed here last night?’

No, he had not known, but the information elicited a warm sensation in his stomach nonetheless.

‘Christine told me,’ Nyota continued. ‘She came by your room to turn the lights down and he was sprawled in the chair, holding your hand.’

The last was said with a knowing smirk, and he blushed on cue, heat spreading through his cheeks.

‘He may not know what sexual connotations that has for a Vulcan,’ he murmured pathetically.

‘Well, it’s either just really cute, or a little bit kinky, but it’s obvious that he wants you, Spock. I bet you haven’t told him we’re finished yet, have you?’

‘I have not,’ Spock admitted. ‘I did attempt to once, but we were interrupted, and I did not try again.’

‘Well, I’m going to tell him, alright?’ she stated, rather more than asked. ‘It’s not fair to mislead him like this, poor lamb.’

‘I… have no objection.’

‘Good. I’m so glad you’re alright Spock. We were all so worried, and Jim was like a ghost on the Bridge.’

He took a moment to process that knowledge, and when he did, he felt even worse for having forbidden Doctor McCoy to tell Jim he had woken.

‘Thank you for your concern,’ he offered, eyes saying what his words could not.

‘No problem,’ she replied, smiling sunnily, and her hand slid off his arm. ‘I’ve got work to do, but I’ll see you later. Think about what I said.’

‘I will,’ he promised. Nyota left with a cheery wave, and it had barely been a minute before the doors she had closed behind her crashed open once more. In a nightmarish fashion, Doctor McCoy framed the doorway, a thunderous expression on his reddened face. Spock suspected it was due to anger rather than to embarrassment, and was proved right when he stomped into the room and slammed his hand on the door release behind him.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing to Jim?’ he hissed, the cording tendons of his neck almost alarming.

‘I do not know what you are-’

‘Yes, you damn well do! First, there was that incident the other day, and I still don’t know what happened there, but Jim doesn’t admit to being hurt like that! Then, you refuse to allow me to comm him when you wake, even though he _begged_ me to, even though he slept by your side all night, and _then,_ when he finally gets to come see you, Nyota’s already there in his place!’

It was not as if Spock was unused to such ranting, but it was rarely directed at him, and he would admit to the slightest sensation of nerves in his stomach. He was prepared to address Doctor McCoy’s concerns, when his last words distracted him.

‘Jim was here?’ he muttered, almost to himself, as he realised that Nyota may not have been mistaken when she thought she saw somebody in the corridor.

‘Yes, he was here! I wish I could tell you all that I know, but that would only embarrass him, poor thing. Why do you hurt him like this?’

McCoy’s accusations felt like a punch to the stomach, and Spock’s throat closed up when he tried to reply, eyes wide and mouth open. McCoy watched him struggle for a long moment, before rolling his eyes.

‘Well, I can tell you, Spock, I’m not gonna put up with it much longer,’ he scowled, before his voice softened, expression more miserable than angry. ‘You’re gonna destroy him. I hope you know that. And I will do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening. He’s not coming back today. He needs time to heal.’

He directed a long, hard stare at Spock, then he left without another word. It was a nurse that later came to check his wound and change his bandages, and for all Doctor McCoy’s rage, he was never left unattended in terms of pain or of assistance when needed. Throughout the rest of the day, members of the crew trickled in to see him, but Jim remained noticeably absent, leaving Spock’s world devoid of the colour he brought to it. He had not been without him for this long since before the Khan incident, and it was disconcerting. Spock had to fight the urge to comm him just to see if he was alright (and, though he would not admit it, to hear the sound of his voice). Without being able to meditate, he spent most of the night awake, reading from the padd Ensign Chekov had smuggled in for him. He learnt that they were moving on to the next planet, a twin of the one they had just left, and were going to perform more detailed scans before sending a landing party down. He learnt that the terraforming experiment was finally gaining momentum, though he could not tell from this Ensign’s confusing report what the tipping variable had been. He also learnt that Jim had completed and sent off a week’s worth of reports in one night, and he worried about what state that had left him in.

When he switched the padd off, it was almost silent in Medbay, apart from the hum of machinery, and the faint sound of footsteps. In the quiet, there was time to reflect. Spock wished that he had told Jim about Nyota earlier, and avoided hurting him. He wished that he was more like humans in the acceptance of his emotions, so perhaps he could tell Jim how he felt, and not be afraid of the feral beast lurking within. Above all, he wished that he was back in his own quarters, and able to listen to Jim’s comforting noise, to know that he was moving and well and _there._ But there was no point in wishing. Kaiidth.Mindful of his wound, Spock curled up on his side and prepared his body for sleep.

_‘… so I came down to see you… Bridge isn’t the same…’_

Ra?

_‘… miss you.’_

Jim?

‘Ashal-veh,’ he breathed, and felt warm lips brush his cheek, and heard footsteps, and he slept again.

He woke at 1042 hours, and at first, he was startled by how long he had slept. Then he remembered the lateness of the hour at which he had finally rested, and wondered whether Jim’s presence in the room had been real or imaginary. When he focused his senses, he realised that Nurse Chapel was beside him, checking his vital signs with a padd in hand. She smiled at him as she saw he was awake, her soft eyes speaking of more than just fondness.

‘Good morning, Spock. How are you feeling?’

‘Adequate,’ he replied tonelessly, unwilling to encourage her affections. His mind was stuck on a loop of _Jim Jim Jim_ as she administered his medication and changed his bandages, looking rather more downcast than before. He was unrepentant.

‘I wish to go to my quarters,’ he told her. ‘I am well enough to do so now.’

‘I’m not sure Doctor McCoy would think that’s such a good idea,’ she murmured.

He looked at her for a long while, watching her cheeks flush pink under his scrutiny, and her gaze drop to the padd in her hands.

Finally, she offered, ‘I can try and talk to him if you like?’

‘You have my gratitude.’

She said nothing further, only nodded fervently, and left the room. Minutes later, he heard raised voices at the end of the corridor, Doctor McCoy’s familiar bark against Nurse Chapel’s higher, yet more level tone. Eventually, the tread of heavy boots echoed down the corridor, and Spock was prepared for dispute when McCoy opened the doors, face twisted in dislike.

‘Doctor,’ he began in a rush, arguments primed. ‘I am well enough to return to my own quarters. Vulcans heal faster than humans, and the wound does not bleed as it did. Furthermore, I believe that resting in a familiar environment would be more conducive to this healing. If I encounter any problems, I will contact Medbay.’

Doctor McCoy raised his eyebrows, seemingly unimpressed.

‘You done yet? I will let you leave today on two conditions, Spock. One: You let M’Benga give you a final check-up before you go. Two: You wait until Alpha finishes, and Jim will come and pick you up. Non-negotiable.’

Spock barely had to consider before he accepted with a nod. As much as he feared Jim overriding his controls, his desire to see him won out.

‘Expected that to be harder,’ Doctor McCoy muttered. ‘I’ll send M’Benga down when he’s finished his rounds. Be nice to Jim.’

He left more quietly than he came, which, as Jim might say, was a miracle in itself. This minor victory meant more to Spock than Doctor McCoy knew, as although he understood the merits of remaining in Medbay (and had explained them to Jim many, _many_ times), he was not fond of the constant company, nor of the lack of privacy, or autonomy. He would also have the chance to meditate in his room, away from the bustle of nurses and clatter of medical equipment. And he would see Jim, an indulgence he would be a fool to deny again. With that in mind, Spock retrieved his hidden padd and read the day’s reports with new vigour. Doctor M’Benga came soon after, a rather more affable man than Doctor McCoy, with experience on Vulcan. He had been one of the first to tell him ‘I grieve with thee’ after the destruction of his home planet, and Spock had never forgotten his sympathy. As expected, he was given permission to leave for his quarters when Jim came, so long as he rested in bed, and remained off duty for at least 2 more days. When M’Benga left, he promised to send Jim his way, and Spock returned to his padd.

At 1604 hours, he looked up from his work, hearing frantic footsteps approaching. Their owner did not run, but the hammer of heels on metal was too frequent to indicate a sedate pace. Spock knew who it was before the knock on the door came.

‘Enter,’ he called, attempting to extract the eagerness from his tone.

The doors opened to reveal exactly who he had expected. Jim smiled lopsidedly as he came to his side, his hands twisted together in a manner that would have been obscene on Vulcan.

‘Hey,’ he said, the soft, breathless greeting almost tentative.

Spock was filled with remorse.

‘Good afternoon, Jim,’ he returned, and the ensuing way his face lit up was nothing short of beautiful. ‘I am sorry that you were not able to see me yesterday.’

Jim choked on a breath, waving Spock away as he leant forward in concern. When he recovered, his cheeks were red.

‘Did-uh, did Bones tell you about that?’ he asked nervously, grasping the railings at the side of his bed and rocking on his heels.

‘He did.’

Spock disengaged the railing opposite Jim, and swung his legs over the side, standing upright. It took a moment to steady himself, as the blood he had lost made him dizzy, but Jim’s arm sliding around his waist was an anchor in more ways than one. He allowed himself to lean into Jim slightly, pressing the flat of one narrow hip against his radiating heat, and basking in it. Jim indulged him, fingers splayed against his stomach as his hand supported him, his thumb stroking feather-light up and down his side.

Grinning, he murmured in Spock’s ear, ‘Ready to go?’

‘I have been for a long time, Captain.’

It was deliberately provocative, and worth it, as Jim laughed raucously. He let his hand slide from Spock’s waist, letting him carry himself, and began to lead him from the room.

‘Medbay isn’t welcoming for many – especially not with Bones, the grumpy bastard. Bless him.’

As they walked, they were slowed numerous times by well-wishing crewmembers, and though Spock was grateful for their concern, he was also weary. They entered his quarters together, Jim putting Spock’s code in without a second’s hesitation once he had seen how tired he was.

‘I’m sorry if I interrupted you and Nyota,’ Jim said quietly, as he helped situate Spock in bed. It took visible effort for him to choke out the next sentence, the words spilling from his lips with a shudder that rattled him from head to toe. ‘I don’t mean to intrude on your relationship.’

Spock almost told him that there was no relationship – not one that was sexual, at least – but Nyota had already agreed to disclose that information, and if Spock was honest, he was nervous about Jim’s reaction. It was unlike him to be so illogical, so _emotional,_ but Jim was a catalyst for more than just the Admiralty’s wrath.

‘You do not intrude. I am sorry, Jim.’

‘For what?’ came the soft reply, as he was tucked in like a child, the duvet pulled up to his neck, and the padd tugged from compliant fingers.

 _For a multitude of things,_ his unhelpful mind supplied.

‘For not allowing Doctor McCoy to contact you when I woke,’ he chose, once his silence became too much to bear. ‘It was not because I did not wish to see you.’

That, at least, was true. Jim paused, his hands stilling on the duvet, which he had been smoothing out in an obsessive fashion.

‘You sure about that?’ he asked lowly, eyes affixed on the bed.

‘I am.’

Jim smiled, looking up at him through lowered eyelashes, almost bashful.

‘I… don’t suppose you’ve eaten yet?’ he began, so hesitant, so low, that Spock had to strain even his ears to hear him. ‘Because if you haven’t, um, neither have I.’

Spock could have pretended he didn’t understand Jim’s meaning, but he was weakening, more and more susceptible to his Captain as time wore on. Seeing the hope slip from Jim’s face made his heart ache in his side, and he resolved to talk to Doctor M’Benga about possible cardiac abnormalities the next time he saw him.

Knowing that being in proximity to Jim would only bring trouble, he put aside logic and replied, ‘I have not. You are welcome to join me for dinner, if you so wish.’

Jim’s resulting smile was heavenly – or would have been, if Spock believed in such things. He pushed Spock back gently to the bed when he tried to get up to reach the replicator, asked what he wanted, and brought two steaming plates back. One, he placed on the bedside table, the other, on Spock’s lap, and dragged a chair from the other side of the room so he could sit next to him.

‘What’s that? Farr-whatever?’ Jim asked, pointing at Spock’s plate as he discarded his knife and picked up his fork with the wrong hand to eat his pasta.

‘Farr-khali. It is a Vulcan dish.’

Jim didn’t reply, but as he ate, his eyes flicked periodically from his food, to Spock’s face, to the farr-khali, and Spock sighed inwardly.

‘Would you like to try some, Jim?’

‘Yes, please,’ he mumbled, like a child, and pulled his fork from his pasta, letting it hover in various spots over the plate. ‘Not sure how to- how to-’

Spock placed his own cutlery down and took the fork from Jim’s hand, careful not to touch the skin. He loaded it with a generous amount of food, and handed it, tines-end forwards, back to him. To his surprise, Jim didn’t take it back from him, but leant forward and closed his mouth around the farr-khali, eyes burning into Spock, then let the fork fall from his lips. Spock’s wrist went suddenly limp.

‘Mmm, that’s good,’ Jim said throatily, as he swallowed.

Spock couldn’t help but clench his other hand in the duvet, trying to ward off his arousal. He placed the fork back on Jim’s plate.

‘Want to try some of mine?’

He wanted to, if only to try and induce the same emotions in Jim as the ones that were coursing through him now, but he knew that was not wise.

‘I am aware of what pasta tastes like,’ he answered, his tone a little too sharp.

Jim flinched, the bowstring of his lips drawing out into a thinner line. Dinner was finished in silence. When they had both finished, Jim cleared away the plates with that same pained expression, but he still helped Spock rearrange himself in bed, however dismayed he was. As was becoming more and more common when he was around Jim, Spock was burdened with regret. He wanted to apologise, but his head throbbed, and he was exhausted, and he was all too aware that he was proficient in saying the wrong thing. Apologies would have to wait.

‘I’m going to see Bones now,’ Jim whispered, lowering the lights for him. ‘If you need me, I’m just a comm away, okay?’

‘Understood. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

He looked down at Spock, now prostrate in bed, with an unfathomable expression on his face. With the timidity of someone habituated to rejection, he reached out with one shaking hand, and stroked Spock’s hair down, before he brought it back to his side.

‘Goodnight,’ he said softly, lingering at his bedside. ‘Sweet dreams.’

Spock didn’t get the chance to tell him that Vulcans didn’t dream, for he was asleep a moment later.

He was roused an indeterminate time later by voices. His internal chronometer informed him that it was 0223 hours, but as it had malfunctioned earlier, he could not tell how long he had slept. The bathroom door had been left open, so he could hear more than usual, and there was a commotion next door. The voice of Doctor McCoy was low and soothing as he whispered platitudes to some whimpering, weeping creature. It didn’t take long for Spock to establish that it was Jim. He had evidently caught the tail-end of a conversation; McCoy was cooing answers to questions he hadn’t heard asked, and Jim was sobbing, inconsolable. Spock struggled upright, heart pounding. He really should see Doctor M’Benga about that. Stumbling out of bed, he crept up to Jim’s door through the bathroom, ready to enter if he was needed. As his hand rested on the door release, slowly, slowly, the crying subsided, and he heard Jim gasp in a few congested breaths. It sounded as if he was pressed into Doctor McCoy, and he wasn’t sure why, but that made his stomach clench.

Jim’s voice was thin and trembling, and Spock thought he sounded like a broken thing as he whispered, ‘My heart hurts, Leo. My heart hurts.’

‘I know, darlin’,’ came the gentle reply. For the first time ever, Spock couldn’t hear any sign of irritation in McCoy’s voice. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Though Spock strained his ears, he could hear no answer apart from Jim’s hiccup, and a shift of fabric. He realised that they must be lying on Jim’s bed, perhaps embracing, perhaps closer than he and Jim had ever been before. He was envious. He knew he had no right to be.

‘Want me to stay, sugar?’ McCoy inquired.

‘No, no, I’m fine,’ Jim said nasally. ‘I’m-I’m okay, just, yeah, just go. I’m fine.’

‘Doesn’t sound like it to me.’

There was a significant pause, during which there came a whisper so quiet that even Spock, pressed to the door and eavesdropping brazenly, could not hear it.

‘I know. I know, and I’m sorry,’ Doctor McCoy murmured. ‘If you need me, you know where I am. I won’t turn you away, I promise.’

‘Thanks, Bones.’

‘Night, night, Jimmy.’

Spock was frozen against the door as he heard McCoy leave. He knew that, at some point, Jim may well need the bathroom, and he would be discovered, but he couldn’t help himself for the moment. He heard Jim settle into bed, tossing and turning as he always did until he found a comfortable position. He began to cry again. Spock pawed uselessly at the door in front of him, knowing he could not reveal himself, but a lump rose in his throat all the same. A shame like none other blanketed him as he traipsed back to bed, the human he burned for sobbing himself to sleep.

He was woken for the second time that night by a wail, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Not quite fully awake, he toppled out of bed and grabbed his phaser, bursting into Jim’s room, from where the sound had originated. Spock was confused to find that there was no intruder, only Jim writhing in bed, his face scrunched in evident anguish as he cried out, arms raised with palms facing outwards as if to protect himself from an invisible attacker. Spock knelt by his bedside, uncertain of what to do in the face of such torment. He was aware that humans sometimes suffered from so-called ‘night terrors’, but he was not sure whether to wake him. He hissed Jim’s name, but there was no reaction other than a further howl of pain. Spock’s hand drifted towards his face as another idea came to him; it would surely be an invasion of privacy, but he could no longer bear to see him suffer. Resolute, his fingers found Jim’s meld points with instinctual ease, and dove into his mind.

It was radiant.

Jim’s psyche was as golden as his hair, as golden as his Command tunic, and light streamed from the conjured sky in every direction. Spock’s very katra surged up within him, as if to break out and be melded with Jim’s, his mind finding perfect harmony, and he realised with a kind of exquisite agony that he had found his One. His t’hy’la. This realisation, however, was bittersweet. Much as he cared for – yes, even _loved_ – Jim, much as his mind, his body, and his soul ached to be one with his, he had committed a grievous offence against him. He had long regretted attacking him on the Bridge the day his mother, and most of his race, died, but Spock was filled with a fresh sense of self-loathing as he comprehended that he had almost killed his One. He knew little about the concept of t’hy’lara, having avoided the subject in his studies because he didn’t think he would ever be granted such a blessing, but he knew that harming one’s t’hy’la was a crime that matched no other.

Lost in crippling emotion, it took Spock a moment to remember why he had entered Jim’s mind in the first place - Jim was suffering. As idyllic as his surroundings were, he noticed that a storm was brewing in the distance. Spock approached the maelstrom with caution, only to find it battering against a shield that flickered in and out of existence, splintering under its power. Jim, a psi-null human, had created a barrier between the dark and the light. It was extraordinary. For all his wonder, Spock knew he would have to act soon to lessen Jim’s distress. He wandered up to the barrier, and stepped through it as if it wasn’t there, confronted with the source of his pain. Somewhere within that tempest was a horrendous memory that Jim was re-living, and without thought for his own well-being, Spock entered the fray.

He found himself in a barren wasteland, the land so dry that it was covered with splintering cracks, and little else. The air was acrid with the stench of rotting flesh. Spock gagged before he could help himself, his watery eyes acclimatising to the scene. Before him, a skeletal child, no more than 13 or 14, stood across from three uniformed men, who eyed him with a lustful hunger that sickened Spock. As he approached, he processed the lank blond hair and startlingly bright blue eyes of the boy, and felt his stomach roil. Jim looked wild, feral, emaciated knuckles straining white against his skin as he clenched his fists, as if they would break through.

‘I need that food,’ he choked, in a voice higher than Spock was used to, but filled with no less determination.

‘What, for your _babies?’_ one sneered, a finger stroking over the phaser he held loosely against his chest. Jim jolted as if surprised. ‘Yeah, we know you’re hiding ‘em. Riley, Leighton, the lot. We could always let the Governor know where you are.’

Jim’s face blanched beneath the weathered tan it had gained. Quivering, he dug his heels into the arid ground, and raised his chin to meet the man’s gaze, snarling, ‘What do you want?’

‘You.’

Spock felt a fury like never before – only Jim’s death and his resulting attack on Khan could even compare. He desired to lunge at the animal that dared to pervert a child, to rend his worthless neck from his shoulders, and to protect Jim from any and all further harm. But this was a memory, and he could do none of those things. He reached out, so close now, and attempted to brush Jim’s painfully thin arm with his fingertips. They ghosted through him as if he were a mere projection. After a long while of apparent silent debate, during which the uniformed men watched him with shark-like grins, Jim raised dull eyes to their faces.

‘I have two conditions,’ he said, the emotion drained from his voice. ‘One: you do not tell Kodos where we are. Two: I get half of your current food supply.’

‘A quarter.’

‘A third.’

‘Done.’

The monster that called himself a man put out his hand for Jim to take, and Jim did so, his jagged nails biting into the skin, leaving crescent moon marks behind.

‘Ah, you little bastard,’ the animal hissed, hands falling to his belt and beginning to unbuckle it.

Jim’s face screwed up, his eyes filling with tears, and Spock could bear it no longer. He cast himself out of the memory and projected his own in its place, of one of the many chess matches he and Jim had shared off-ship, wherein he had lost the match, and Jim had howled in laughter. The storm calmed slowly. Haunted by the memory he had seen, Spock was about to leave Jim’s mind when he found himself entangled, golden thread looping around his wrist. The grip wasn’t tight, but it was wilful, and his katra surged once more. Panicking, Spock realised what it was. A bond was forming. As much as he yearned to be bonded to Jim, he knew his t’hy’la hadn’t consented, nor did Spock deserve such exquisite unity after he had attacked him. As gently as he could, Spock slipped his wrist from the loop of golden thread, and it seemed to wilt, retracting back to whence it came. With terrible regret, and a strange sense of foreboding, Spock retreated from his mind.

When he returned to the physical plane, Jim was sleeping in peace, the creases in his forehead having smoothed out. Spock traced the echo of them with tender fingers, a sob coming keenly to his lips. He managed to muffle the worst of it with one hand, closing his eyes against the onslaught of tears that pushed against his eyelids, the overflow dribbling down his face in the manner of raindrops. He wept not only for the horrors of Jim’s past, but for those of his own future, without his t’hy’la. Wiping the tears away as they came, he pressed gentle kisses against Jim’s face with the pads of his fingers, the last against his soft lips. Jim did not stir when he got up to leave.

‘Taluhk nash-veh k'dular,’ he whispered, as he left both the room, and the t’hy’la he would never allow himself to bond with, behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up, who cried? I might have done, a little bit. Hope you guys enjoy, and you can always find my at my [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)!


	7. My Lonely Heart Is Racing

Yesterday had been a heady mix of agony and ecstasy. Jim was elated that Spock had allowed them to have dinner together (and had not ordered him out in disgust when he couldn’t help himself but flirt), but the elation was tempered by the knowledge that he would never return Jim’s feelings. Trust him to fall for the unattainable. Similarly, while he had enjoyed drinking with Bones in the beginning, the bourbon going some way to mask his misery, it had all led back to Spock. Spock, who would feed him from his plate but wouldn’t let him return the favour. Spock, whose relationship with Uhura was destroying him from the inside out. Spock, who may have shown him true friendship at one point, but who had surely tired of him now. If Bones was sick of his constant crying and moping about, he hadn’t shown it, only put him to bed like a child without judgement. God, he loved Bones – and owed him after the theatrics last night.  
  
Jim had woken weak-limbed and nauseous, temples throbbing from what was either the aftereffects of bourbon or this mysterious illness, he didn’t know which. In the night, he’d dreamt of Tarsus, of the children he had tried to save, and those he had failed to. And of the guardsmen. Jim shivered as he thought of the moment his childhood had finally died, in an exchange of his pubescent body for a few scraps of bread. It was odd, however, that he hadn’t woken. The dream had been interrupted by a presence, warm and safe and loving, and he had escaped from their sticky grasp into a chess game with Spock, the very first time he had won. Jim didn’t know exactly what had happened last night, but it had been a blessing nevertheless. He dressed leisurely, partly because he was on Beta, and partly because his fingers felt numb, and couldn’t grasp his clothing properly. He stabbed himself in the neck with both blue and green hyposprays, trying to ignore the thought that this weakness might be something more than just a bug. After taking care of business in the bathroom, Jim knocked on Spock’s connecting door.  
  
‘Come in, Captain,’ Spock croaked – yes, _croaked_ – and Jim burst in, freaking out when he saw his face.  
  
‘Holy shit balls, you’re ill!’  
  
He was at the bed in three long strides, hand poised to feel his pale forehead, the colour drained from his cheeks, until paler still lips formed the word, ‘No.’  
  
Jim’s hand froze, hovering inches above its contact point. The heat radiating off him was substantial, but, he supposed, no different from normal. He swallowed, experiencing a dangerous cocktail of worry, guilt and hurt.  
  
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked as he lowered his hand to his side. ‘God, Spock, you don’t look right.’  
  
‘I believe that if I said that to you, you would be offended,’ Spock replied mildly.  
  
His skin was waxy, and while Jim seen him look tired before, today those dark eyes were deep in more ways than one, sunken in with blue-green smudges painted beneath the sockets. Unable to comfort him physically, Jim’s hands entwined behind his back and he stared him down with his best ‘I am the Captain, you will do as I say’ expression. When that didn’t work, he resorted to begging.  
  
‘Aw, c’mon, Spock! Look, my first instinct right now is to go and get Bones, but seeing as you gave me so much leeway on that last time, I’m not going to unless I have to. Please talk to me.’  
  
One hand slipped from its fleshy prison, but was quickly grabbed by the other, and returned to its place behind his back. Spock’s mouth hung open much as it had the day Jim had told him that he would miss him, after Nibiru. But this time, Jim waited for a reply. He had nowhere to be yet.  
  
‘I am… not unwell,’ Spock began, his voice strange and pitchy, injected with a trace of some indecipherable emotion. Jim waited for him to continue, but he did not, gaze somewhere off in the middle distance, eyelashes… _wet?_ Blinking as if a new picture would emerge once his eyelids had closed, Jim stared, while Spock was still aggressively not looking at him. A minute passed, then another. He decided to be merciful.  
  
‘How’s your head?’  
  
It seemed that changing the subject was all that was needed to break the spell, as Spock answered almost immediately, ‘My head is better. I do believe I am in need of changing my bandages, but that can wait.’  
  
‘No, no,’ Jim blurted, jumping at the chance to see the wound which had almost stolen him away forever. ‘I can do that. Let me.’  
  
After a moment of contemplation, Spock’s response was a long, slow nod. He gestured to a nondescript box that lay by his bed, and on opening it, Jim discovered bandages along with several hyposprays filled with what he assumed was pain medication. Jim went to wash his hands, then came back and sat next to him on the bed, untying the bandage. Spock was silent as he unwound it, expressionless even as the end caught on the healing wound. It was the first chance Jim had got to look at it, and he winced as he took in its jagged length, evident even with Bones’ healing genius and Spock’s Vulcan heritage. He clucked at it, fingers pressing soft into his scalp as he tilted his head back. Spock made a small noise, but whether of pleasure or pain, it was uncertain.  
  
‘Still looks sore,’ Jim remarked, popping the cap off the hypospray and gently depressed it against his neck before he could argue.  
  
‘It is not pleasant, but it is bearable.’  
  
‘Then why didn’t you use a hypo, dummy?’ Jim chided, grabbing the new bandage and winding it round his head.  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘It is hypocritical of you to rebuke me when you are guilty of the same avoidance.’  
  
‘Hypocritical’s my middle name, Mr. Spock.’  
  
Spock frowned.  
  
‘Tiberius is your middle name, Jim,’ he stated, lips pursing.  
  
‘Yeah, I- you know what? Never mind.’  
  
Jim finished winding the bandage and tied it messily. ‘Ta-da!’  
  
With a probing hand, Spock patted the replacement.  
  
‘It is adequate.’  
  
‘High praise from the Vulcan there,’ Jim burbled. ‘How long have you got to stay in bed for?’  
  
‘I am relieved of duty until tomorrow,’ Spock told him, though he didn’t look happy about it.  
  
‘Y’know, Spock, you and I are more similar than you think. You can claim otherwise all you want, but we both hate feeling useless – don’t try to deny it.’  
  
‘I find being confined to my quarters… distasteful,’ Spock said, mouth in a semi-pout again, and it took Jim all he had not to dive forward and kiss that pout right off his face. He smiled in understanding, but Spock’s tired eyes still wouldn’t meet his, and so he relieved his disquiet by getting up to dispose of the ruined bandage, stained forest green with blood. It was then, as he glanced at the clock, that he noticed the time.  
  
‘Wow, it’s lunchtime already?’ he exclaimed, turning to Spock with a hopeful expression. ‘Hey, you want to eat together again?’  
  
Spock had frozen, more marble than Vulcan, his hands fisted in the duvet.  
  
‘Forgive me, Captain, but I must sleep instead.’  
  
His voice was barely audible, conviction absent. That familiar wounded lump rose in Jim’s throat again, but when he looked, _really_ looked, at Spock, he understood. Apart from the bruise-blue smudges beneath his eyes, it looked as if he was struggling to keep himself upright, his normally rigid shoulders beginning to wilt under the strain. Silent, Jim approached the bed again, acknowledging and ignoring Spock’s subtle flinch. He motioned for him to lie down, and Spock did so, those weary, beautiful eyes watching him with what he deluded himself into thinking was trust.  
  
‘Sleep then,’ he said softly, guiding his head to the pillow, and pulling the blankets right up to his chin. ‘I’ll be back before Beta.’  
  
Spock didn’t reply, his eyes already fluttering closed, and Jim smiled with aching fondness as he turned the lights down and left. When he arrived at the Mess, it was bustling. Jim fielded the greetings he received with ease, grabbing a chicken salad to show Bones… who wasn’t there. Fantastic. Plate in hand, Jim felt like he was back in school again as he faced rows and rows of tables filled with people he couldn’t sit with. He saw Chekov and started over towards him, but then Sulu appeared, sitting entirely too close to him, and he thought better of it.  
  
‘Hey, over here.’  
  
Oh, thank God for Nyota. She was sat alone on a two-person table, and as she waved him over, Jim hoped that his jealousy over Spock wouldn’t ruin lunch. He sat, and she smiled at him, teeth dazzlingly white. She was beautiful; a monstrous part of Jim loathed her for it.  
  
‘Thanks,’ he breathed, as he dropped into the uncomfortable chair across from her. ‘Felt like high school all over.’  
  
She laughed, bright and musical.  
  
‘Don’t worry about it. But, you know, you could sit with any one of the people in here and they’d welcome you.’  
  
Jim frowned in disbelief, muttering into his salad, ‘I don’t think so. They look at me like I’m going to eat them.’  
  
‘They respect you!’ she insisted. ‘Honestly, Jim, they think you’re a great Captain. We all do.’  
  
Jim felt a warm rush from head to toe, and muscle memory curled his mouth into a familiar smirk.  
  
‘Oh no, don’t get big headed about it,’ Nyota warned, before he could say anything. She smacked him lightly with her plastic fork.  
  
‘Why are you using a fork to eat a burger?’  
  
‘Why are you eating a salad without being tied down?’  
  
 _‘Why are you the focus of the love of my life’s affections?’_ his treacherous mind supplied, before a more rational part of him offered – ‘I wanted to show Bones, but he’s not here.’  
  
‘Aww, diddums.’ She pinched his cheek. ‘I’ll tell him later, or Scotty will, when they’re playing cards. Now, I’ve got something to tell _you.’_  
  
Jim’s heart was immediately racing.  
  
‘I’m not sure you’ll like it.’  
  
Oh _God,_ they were getting married. No, why would she think he wouldn’t like that? Unless she’d noticed how he acted around Spock – what if she told him? What if Spock didn’t want anything to do with him anymore? What if they transferred off the ship? What if-  
  
‘Spock and I aren’t together,’ Nyota murmured, putting him out of his misery.  
  
Jim felt like his head was submerged underwater, and he shook it as if to clear it.  
  
‘…What?’  
  
‘That’s not what I thought you wouldn’t like. This part is: we haven’t been for a year and a half.’  
  
As he finally processed the fact that Spock was unattached, Jim felt like getting up on the table and screaming with joy. Before he could stop himself, his lips curved into a lazy beam, stomach fizzling with excitement, euphoria coursing through his veins- _Wait. What?_  
  
His smile splintered. He blinked rapidly.  
  
‘Come again?’  
  
‘I’m sorry, Jim,’ she said, voice quiet and mournful. ‘We’re both quite private people, and at first, we thought it best to keep it under wraps. I told Christine though; she’s my best friend.’  
  
The obvious question hung in the air between them. Jim was beginning to feel sick again, the proverbial knife of betrayal buried deep in his back.  
  
‘I tried to get him to tell you, but he kept saying it was private, it was private. I’m sorry.’  
  
Jim shook his head, eyes fixed on the salad he had barely touched.  
  
Fuck. _Fuck._   
  
‘He really doesn’t…’ _Want me._  
  
There was a long silence thick with resentment, with misery.  
  
‘It’s not your fault,’ he whispered finally, wondering how much of a mockery he had made of himself.  
  
‘I’m still sorry.’  
  
Her hand squeezed his knee under the table. When he looked at her, there was mischief dancing in her eyes.  
  
‘Aren’t you glad though?’ Nyota asked.  
  
His cheeks heated as he feigned ignorance. ‘What do you mean?’  
  
She smacked his hand again, harder.  
  
‘I’m not stupid you know. The way you look at him… it’s like he’s your whole universe, and then some.’  
  
‘He is,’ Jim blurted, before he could stop himself. ‘He is. Did you notice before you guys-?’  
  
Nyota grinned.  
  
‘Of course I did. You were never very good at hiding it, you know. It used to bug me a little, but the relationship was going nowhere, and-’ she shrugged. ‘Then it didn’t.’  
  
‘If you don’t mind me asking, why did you guys split?’  
  
As much as he was hurting, he was genuinely curious. They’d always seemed like the perfect power couple, and he had felt bitter about that whenever he saw them hugging or kissing, one beauty perfect for another. Nyota looked like she was struggling for an answer. He had never seen her lost for words before.  
  
Eventually, she just said, ‘I needed more.’  
  
Jim waggled his eyebrows.  
  
‘No, not like- okay, yes, that was a real issue, but-’  
  
‘Surely you guys-’  
  
‘No, never.’  
  
 _‘What?_ That’s insane,’ he hissed, leaning in. ‘Why?’  
  
‘We never had a true connection,’ Nyota sighed. ‘From time to time, I did try to initiate things, but he wasn’t having any of it. Our minds aren’t compatible, apparently, and that’s really important for Vulcans. In the end, he realised he was being selfish by letting me hope, and I’d had enough, and we went our separate ways. It wasn’t just the lack of sex, though. We’re much better as friends. He could never give me the emotional side of things either, and that’s because I’m not the right one for him.’  
  
Her eyes alighted on him, shining.  
  
‘Maybe it’s not that he doesn’t want you. Maybe he wants you too much.’  
  
Jim was stunned into silence, and she got up, patting his shoulder as she left.  
  
‘I’m going to see Scotty. Just think about it, alright?’  
  
He heard the click of her heels as she walked away, and as hungry as he’d been before, he no longer had the stomach for food. What the hell did she mean? How could you want someone _too_ much..? Okay, that was a stupid question. But Jim had been unattached since – well, since forever! If Spock had wanted him, he could have taken him. That particular revelation brought about some pretty unclean thoughts, and he got up in a hurry, throwing his salad into the dispenser, which berated him for the waste. Despite the delight that lingered within him, he was still throbbing with anguish, and he needed some closure, in whatever form that might take. Resolute, he headed back to Spock’s quarters.   
  
He barged in without thought, and Spock’s eyes snapped open immediately. Cocooned in layers of blankets, he looked just as tired as he had before, but Jim couldn’t find it in him to be sorry about it. His chest hurt, like someone had closed a fist around his heart and was squeezing it tight.  
  
‘What is wrong, Jim?’ Spock asked, drawing himself up into a sitting position. His hair was all in disarray, locks of it sticking up haphazardly, yet although he was watching him with evident concern, Jim was still pulsing with betrayal.  
  
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he cried, voice tight and high with distress. Spock had the nerve to attempt to look confused. ‘And don’t try and bullshit me, Spock, you _know_ what I’m talking about.’  
  
The façade dropped. Spock let out a heavy breath, the closest thing to a sigh he ever allowed himself. Exhausted, yet sincere eyes caught Jim’s, and held their gaze.  
  
‘I did not mislead you for malicious purposes. If you believe nothing else, believe that. In the beginning, it was a private issue, and as it did not affect our working relationship, I did not see why it should matter.’  
  
‘It matters because friends are supposed to tell each other things!’ Jim exploded, hands splayed and gesturing wildly. ‘Aren’t we friends, Spock?’  
  
Maybe it sounded a little more desperate than it was meant to, but Jim really didn’t care. He stared at him with wide, pleading eyes, needing reassurance.  
  
‘We are,’ Spock said, head tipped to the side like a confused puppy, and Jim could have fainted with relief. ‘I apologise if my actions have led you to call that truth into question.’  
  
Jim melted, much as he hated himself for it. He gently pushed at Spock’s shoulder until he was lying down again, his hand returning to the hair his hand so often itched to thread its way through.   
  
‘You didn’t answer the question,’ he murmured, shuddering inwardly with pleasure at the silken feel of it.  
  
For a second, it looked as if Spock was arching up into his hand, but when he blinked, no such thing was happening. He decided that he had imagined it.  
  
Spock curled up facing him, replying quietly, ‘As I said, in the beginning, I considered it a private matter. Nyota seemed, at first, dismayed about the change in our relationship status, and I did not wish to exacerbate that emotion. Then, as time went on, I must admit that I found it more and more difficult to insert it into conversation.’  
  
Jim snorted, his hands still combing through his hair.  
  
‘Look, I get that it might have been awkward between you and Nyota at first. I get that you’re pretty uptight about your personal life too, but Nyota told Christine, and I… well, I guess I thought you didn’t trust me.’  
  
He tugged at the roots of his hair, and Spock let out a noise not unlike a mewl. Jim pulled away immediately.  
  
‘Sorry, did I hurt you?’ he asked, horrified.  
  
‘You did not,’ Spock rasped, hooded eyes closing, ‘and in answer to your previous statement, I will say this: it is not that I did not trust you, but that I did not trust myself.’  
  
Jim scowled. What was it, Riddle Day? Why was everybody being so cryptic? When he opened his mouth to ask what the hell that meant, Spock eyes were also, and they fixed on him sorrowfully. While the expression cleared a moment later, Jim did not want to be the one to put it on his face again. Eternally cursing himself for his weakness when faced with Spock, he tried another tack.  
  
‘Were you attracted to her?’  
  
‘I found Nyota to be a satisfactory partner.’  
  
His answer was reasonable, but his tone was odd, almost offbeat.  
  
‘But were you attracted to her?’ Jim needled. ‘Sexually?’  
  
‘I was not. I can see that she has aesthetic appeal, however I did not- I was not-’ Spock swallowed. ‘I have found that I am primarily, if not solely, attracted to males.’  
  
Jim’s heart thudded in his chest.  
  
‘You’re gay, o-or bi?’ he breathed, irrationally hopeful.  
  
‘I do not wish to put labels on my sexuality.’  
  
Of course he didn’t, because that wouldn’t be logical. Nevertheless, Jim’s heart sang. He wanted to tell Spock something beautiful, like 'I love you more than all of the stars we’re sailing by', but it came out rather more like, ‘Have you ever been with a man?’  
  
He blanched as he realised what he had said, and opened his mouth to apologise, but Spock was already shaking his head, high cheekbones tinged green at the apex. Jim’s hand was inches away from his on the bedspread, and he slid it closer while Spock’s gaze was on his face, closer, closer, almost-  
  
 _‘Keptin?’_ came Chekov’s generally pleasant voice, and yet Jim could have throttled him. _‘You’re needed on the Bridge, sir.’_  
  
The moment was lost. Before he could blink, Spock’s hand was snatched backwards to his lap, eyes averted to the back wall.  
  
‘Thank you, Chekov. I’ll be there in five.’  
  
He could see immediately that Spock had shut down, expression as blank and unwelcoming as the Siberian tundra, and cursed Chekov for interrupting.  
  
‘I guess the scans are done,’ he explained, but it was as if he hadn’t said anything, for all the reaction he got. ‘Maybe… maybe you should go back to sleep.’  
  
He reached for Spock’s unruly hair one final time, but he flinched away. Jim’s hand retreated to his stomach, curling in the fabric of his tunic.  
  
‘I’ll see you later,’ he whispered, unable to speak any louder for fear he would choke on the words, devastated to be back at square one. How long had it been since Spock had resisted his touch? Longer than Jim had loved him, that was for sure. Longer even than they had been friends, perhaps. Unwilling to look back into cold eyes, he fled from the room with a parting, unconvincing, ‘Hope you’re feeling better soon.’  
  
Jim certainly wasn’t feeling better. He wasn’t feeling good at all. Roiling nausea had surfaced as soon as Spock had recoiled from his hand – both of which, by the way, felt numb. He flexed them, one trying to rub life into another, but he still felt like he had pins and needles. Clattering through the doors (greeted with a cheery ‘Keptin on ze Bridge!’), he threw himself into the chair and asked what was going on.  
  
‘Thorough scans have shown no carnivorous, aggressive, or otherwise threatening fauna,’ Lieutenant Marcus said cheerfully, as she scanned through outputs that even Jim found hard to understand. ‘I’d say we’re good to go.’  
  
‘Excellent,’ Jim grinned. ‘Let’s put a landing party together.’  
  
 _And this time, nobody was going to stop him, numb hands or not._  
  
Ten minutes later, after handing the conn to Sulu, he was stood with a team in the transporter room – minus poor Cupcake, who was still recovering in Medbay. Jim had got him some fairy cakes sent down the other day, and by all reports, he’d enjoyed them. Smirking to himself, Jim commed Bones.  
  
 _‘Whaddaya want, kid? We got an outbreak of Levodian flu down here.’_  
  
‘Shit, is that bad?’ Jim asked. ‘Contagious?’  
  
 _‘It’s pretty similar to Terran flu, but I don’t want it spreading any more than it has to. I’m tryin’ to keep a quarantine down here. Now, what’s wrong?’_  
  
Good old Bones, concerned even when he was under eye-watering amounts of stress.  
  
‘Nothing, I’m just telling you I’m taking a team down to the surface.’  
  
There was a brief pause, before the barking began.  
  
 _‘Are you insane?’_ Bones yelled. _‘Didn’t you learn from what happened to Spock?’_  
  
‘Different planet, Bones.’  
  
 _‘Same system! C’mon, kid, work with me here. We don’t even know if you’re okay yet.’_  
  
‘I’m fine,’ Jim snapped, frustrated. ‘Look, we’ve done deep scans, and there’s nothing that’ll try and eat us. If all goes well, we’ll be back in a few hours. Kirk out.’  
  
He cut Bones’ next rant off and took his place on the transporter.  
  
‘Ready, Cap’n?’ Scotty smiled, Keenser at his side.  
  
‘Always.’  
  
It felt odd not having Spock next to him when they beamed down. They were almost always together in landing parties, because Spock insisted on going with him as protection, and Jim very rarely denied him. When they re-materialised in what appeared to be a jungle, he turned on reflex to speak to him, only to find a security officer in his place, staring quizzically back. The words died in his throat.  
  
‘Orders, Captain?’   
  
‘Uh, keep on your guard while the Science guys take some samples,’ he told her, watching the ensigns eyeball the foreign flora almost lustfully. ‘Phasers out, but only on stun, please. I want caution, but no unhappy accidents, alright?’  
  
This he directed to the rest of the group, and as he waved a dismissive hand, his blueshirts went scampering away like eager bunnies, sample pots appearing as if conjured. He shook his head fondly at them and strolled away, his own phaser in his belt. The planet was beautiful, he had to admit, with a comfortable temperature, a level of oxygen that was giving him a buzz, and trees tall enough to filter out the light of three stars. The only thing spoiling it was the ever-present nausea churning his stomach. He felt like he was on a rollercoaster after eating too much chocolate. Still, the Science ensigns were all chattering in excitement to one another, passing around samples of soil and leaves and bark, some even showing them to the evidently disinterested redshirts. Jim patted Ensign Vadim on the arm as he presented a glass vial of some purplish sap to him, missing Spock more than ever. He was the one who bridged the gap between the ensigns and himself, interpreting as they babbled in absurdly technical language, and bringing them down when they got overexcited.  
  
Like now.  
  
He turned, smiling at his animated crewmen (affectionately referred to as ‘Spock’s kids’ inside his head), just as Ensign Ferreira knelt down to examine a patch of harmless-looking flowers. Allergic to Retinax like Jim was, she whipped off her glasses to peer myopically at an unremarkable soil sample – not noticing as one huge, hideous orange flower began snaking out from between the others. Alarmed, Jim started forwards, but the flower reared back as if to strike, and he shouted a warning. In her own little world, Ensign Ferreira didn’t hear him, so he ran to protect her as the flower opened in the centre to reveal a gaping maw, knocking her to the ground. He had milliseconds in which to throw a hand over his face as the flower shot forward and… sneezed? Jim was covered in a fine spray of something that smelled disgusting, but was apparently non-corrosive and non-toxic. He spat the foul-tasting residue from his mouth, scraping at his tongue with his palm, as tricorders surrounded him like paparazzi dictaphones at a press conference.  
  
‘I’m fine,’ he complained, retching. He knocked a few of the probing hands away. ‘Look, it didn’t burn my face off or anything.’  
  
‘Your vital signs _are_ stable, sir,’ Ensign Vadim conceded, puffing air upwards to get his dangling hair out of his eyes.  
  
‘I’m so sorry, sir!’ Ensign Ferreira gasped, her glasses tilted and face crimson. ‘I mean- thank you, sir!’  
  
‘You’re welcome. Now, everyone stop scanning me.’  
  
He batted the last of the tricorders away and straightened Ferreira’s glasses for her, before turning back to the flower. Most of the security team had surrounded the flower patch, three of them, absurdly, with phasers aimed at it.  
  
‘Guys, I don’t think a phaser will be that helpful,’ he snorted. ‘It’s a flower. Let’s just stay away from any massive orange ones, okay?’  
  
The redshirts dispersed, and now that the drama was over, the ensigns went back to pocketing samples of plant life that Sulu would likely wax lyrical about. Jim didn’t think the flower had done any damage, but he felt all sticky, and was glad when the light began to go. He shielded his eyes to watch the three suns set as final preparations were made to return to Enterprise, marvelling at the colour that shot across the sky.  
  
‘Captain? We’re ready to go.’  
  
He turned reluctantly away from the light show on the horizon and wandered back to the crew.  
  
‘Listen, before we go back,’ he said to the group, as a dreadful thought occurred to him. ‘Let’s not tell Doctor McCoy about the flower thing, yeah?’  
  
The security team seemed to have no reservations, because a smattering of ‘Yes, Captain’ reached his ears. The blueshirts, however, looked unsure.  
  
‘C-commander Spock always tells us that we should inform him, or Doctor McCoy, if you are injured or unwell,’ Ensign Keval stammered, antennae twitching.  
  
 _Devious bastard,_ Jim thought, though he couldn’t deny that knowing that Spock looked out for him made him feel warm inside.  
  
‘Well, I’m not injured or unwell, am I? No lasting effects. Scan me again, someone?’  
  
He turned in a dramatic circle as Vadim did so.  
  
‘And?’  
  
‘And… you’re fine, sir,’ he accepted, blowing away a lock of his wild hair again.  
  
‘There you go,’ Jim said smugly. ‘Any more objections?’  
  
A low, negative murmur passed over the group, and he beamed, switching on his communicator.  
  
‘Beam us up, Scotty!’  
  
They reappeared in the transporter room, for once, without incident. He dismissed the landing party and commed Bones.  
  
‘Boooooonesy.’  
  
 _‘Aw, hell, you’re delirious. Come down here and I’ll give you something for that.’_  
  
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ Jim insisted quickly, not keen to feel Bones’ stabbing skills when he already felt like shit. ‘Just letting you know. That I’m fine.’  
  
 _‘… You sure? I’ve got a lot of flu patients to see to if you are.’_  
  
‘Yep!’ Jim lied, stumbling slightly under a wave of dizziness, voice thickening as bile rose in his throat. _‘SeeyoulaterBones!’_  
  
He was halfway there; he wasn’t going to make it. As casually as he could, what with yeomen roaming the halls, he slammed into the nearest bathroom and emptied his stomach contents into the toilet. For the first time, he really considered going to Medbay, but there was all those flu patients to deal with, and it wasn’t like he’d never been sick before. Still, a gnawing worry surfaced within him. What if this wasn’t temporary? When his stomach settled, he sat back and flushed the toilet, exhausted. With the nausea abating, so too did his anxiety. Just because he was having an off period didn’t mean he was _dying._  
  
He knew he should probably go and get something to eat, but he was so tired, all he wanted to do was sleep. Dragging himself up off the bathroom floor, he trudged over to a sink to wash his mouth out, wiping his lips on the way. He turned on the tap and cupped some water in his hands to wash his mouth out, glancing in the mirror. _Fuck._ His hands went lax and the water dropped, much of it splashing on his uniform, but he wasn’t bothered about that. What he was more concerned about was the red painting his teeth, marking his gums and spider-webbing out into the cracks of the abused skin of his lower lip. He touched the crimson stain with shaking fingers, and caught the reflection of the back of his hand in the mirror. That was definitely blood. For a second, he panicked, wondering if the flower had done something to him after all, but then he calmed. He must have knocked himself when he dived for the toilet. He must have…  
  
In denial that anything was wrong, Jim washed away the blood and stumbled back to his quarters, not feeling much like food anymore. As was becoming habit, he stuck himself with the green and blue hyposprays, and climbed into the shower, washing himself with all the vigour of a 90-year old. Shattered beyond belief, he couldn’t resist checking on Spock one last time. Amazingly, he was still dead to the world, sprawled out on top of his duvet, snuffling as he breathed because one nostril was being plugged by his pillow. Jim’s heart clenched, the dizziness he was feeling paling in comparison to the affection rising in him. He carefully shifted the pillow so that Spock’s airways were clear again, and used the bed for support as he bent to kiss him on the forehead.  
  
‘Night, sweetheart,’ he dared to whisper, a thrill passing through him as he used the word.  
  
Fatigue sitting heavily on him, he folded the duvet over so it was covering him again, and lurched back through the bathroom to his own bed, the hypospray, thankfully, having taken the edge off his headache. The last thing he felt before he fell asleep was an odd tug of arousal in the pit of his stomach, his hips twitching off the bed as he finally dropped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, I wonder what that is? Also, I'm pretty sure Spock _likes_ his hair being played with. Hope you guys enjoy, and as always, feel free to check me out at my [Tumblr!](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)


	8. You And I'll Be Safe And Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT

For the first time in approximately 2.56 weeks, Spock felt fully rested. He had slept from the moment Jim had left for the Bridge until well into ship’s night, waking after 13.83 hours, which was an exorbitant length of time for him. Unable to distract himself with work, because all of his reports were done, and he was not on shift until Beta the next day, he was bombarded by thoughts of Jim, and the cruelty with which he had treated him. He ached to be with his t’hy’la, and yet he was forced to push him away for his own good. Vulcans had no concept of hell, but he felt like he was in it nonetheless. It was an intolerable situation, and although he knew it to be illogical, he wished his mother was there to tell him what to do. She had never failed him when he had come to her asking for advice, never turned him away or tired of him, and he dearly regretted that he had, as a child, been ashamed of her heritage. Despite the theoretical philosophy of ‘Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations’, the fact remained that xenophobia had been rife on Vulcan, the insular nature of his people, and their practical ignorance of other races, had only encouraged a feeling of genetic superiority. Now, with the destruction of their planet having forced Vulcans to become reliant on other species, that sense of superiority was slowly declining. It was unfortunate that his mother had not lived to see such tolerance. Her absence had left a gaping hole in Spock’s life, the ragged edges of which had never healed.  
  
He had hoped that, one day, he might find his t'hy’la, and that they might help to soothe his damaged katra. He had never imagined that he would not be able to claim them when he did. For all his reckless, enigmatic, passionate nature, Spock loved Jim Kirk. Felt the heat in his eyes like a brand, felt the fingers in his hair with helpless arousal, felt his anguish mirrored in the depths of his mind. _Felt._ Jim was one of a precious few that made him feel. Spock cursed himself for ruining that blessed connection with such terrible violence. Every moment they were apart made him burn with longing, and yet he had not the right to extinguish the flames. His mother… his mother would have known what to do.  
  
It was with that final thought that Spock rose from his bed and to the bathroom, deciding that a shower was in order. He unwound the bandage from around his head as he went, finding that the wound was healing well as he touched it with tentative fingers. Just as he was preparing himself, however, he heard whimpering coming from Jim’s room. Assuming it was another nightmare, he raced for the door release, reluctant to allow his One to suffer for any longer than he had to… and promptly froze in the doorway, embarrassment and arousal warring in him. Jim was writhing on the bed, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as one hand moved rhythmically within his non-regulation boxer shorts.  
  
‘S-sorry, Captain,’ Spock stammered, ready to bolt as he felt himself begin to harden. But Jim did not acknowledge him, his eyes unfocused, and the more he heard them, Spock thought the strangled sounds emitting from his mouth were not of pleasure, but of frustration, even pain. He approached cautiously, nails biting into his trouser leg to ward off his own excitement. Jim did not react to his presence, nor did his hand stop its frantic movements.  
  
Right by the bed now, Spock said, ‘James,’ keeping his voice low and commanding. Still, Jim did not stop, but he did seem to notice him now, eyes fixing on his. He let out a desperate high-pitched whine. Spock did not know what to do. Jim seemed almost delirious, he was sweating with exertion, and surely he should have ejaculated by now. Without much consideration, Spock grabbed Jim’s communicator and commed Doctor McCoy.  
  
‘Wha’?’  
  
In the seconds before he had picked up, Spock had realised a few things. One: that Jim would likely be embarrassed by further display of his delirious self-stimulation. Two: that the savage part of him did not want Doctor McCoy to see his t'hy’la this way. After a moment of thought, he decided that medical intervention was unneeded.  
  
‘Forgive me, Doctor,’ he said softly. ‘I am not in need of your assistance.’  
  
He shut off the communicator amidst angry spluttering, and returned his attention to Jim, who was still in the same position as before, the tendons of his neck cording. Concerned that ejaculation did not seem to be forthcoming, Spock reached out and began to inch down the material covering his erection, inhaling sharply when he saw the purplish colour of the bulbous head, and the raw state of the skin beneath it. He had never seen an aroused human male before (although from what he knew, Jim was rather impressively endowed), but he was certain that that was not normal. Jim let out another pained whimper; the friction must have been hurting him. Spock knelt by the bed, seized his wrist and pulled his hand away, capturing the other when it sought to take the place of the first, and Jim wailed, his eyes teary and pleading.  
  
 _‘T'hy’la,’_ Spock cooed, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand, while his hips jerked frantically. ‘James.’  
  
 _‘Spock!’_ Jim cried, panting, and the shock of it nearly made him loosen his grip on Jim’s wrists. There seemed to be no coherency in his eyes, but he was at least aware of who Spock was. Spock wasn’t sure if that was positive or negative. Without stimulation, his erection still had not abated, still that angry red-purple colour, and with a terrible, excitable jolt, Spock wondered if he needed outside help to come. Jim yowled, back bowing as he pushed his hips up, evidently suffering. He made his decision. With one tentative, trembling finger, he touched the raw patch beneath the glans of Jim’s penis. Almost immediately, pre-ejaculate began leaking from the head, and he let out a weak mewl, hips undulating slower now. Spock had to suppress a groan as the searing, sticky substance flowed over his sensitive fingertip, and he moved it gently up and down, Jim gasping in response. Resolute, he took his probing hand away (and bore the ensuing helpless cry), to scramble in the bedside table drawers for lubricant. He found it half empty, and jealousy slashed through him, until he realised that Jim might very well have used it on himself.  
  
 _‘Spock,’_ Jim said breathily, pleading. _‘Spock!’_  
  
Spock murmured soothing platitudes in his ear as he unscrewed the cap with one awkward hand and coated his fingers and palm with cool lubricant, shivering at the feeling, before encircling Jim’s erection loosely. Both of them moaned at the first slick slide of Jim’s penis through his hand; as Jim rocked his hips, Spock had little to do but appreciate the tingling pleasure rocketing back from his fingertips to his core, his own erection trapped and uncomfortable. Before long, Jim was gasping for breath, his hips losing all rhythm as he rutted mindlessly upwards. Bent almost double, with one hand bringing him pleasure, and the other restraining him, Spock kissed him on his sweaty forehead.  
  
‘Come, James,’ he whispered, fighting his own urge to do so at the dual temptation of the friction on his fingertips, and the wonder of seeing Jim in all his pleasurable glory. ‘Come for me.’  
  
He sped up his movements, the delicious glide of lube and pre-come and _Jim_ against his hand almost becoming his undoing. The level and intensity of Jim’s cries were growing, and growing, until, with a strangled scream, he ejaculated in long, hot spurts against Spock’s hand and his own stomach. Spock stroked him through it, fighting the urge to rut against the edge of the bed when Jim whimpered, his hips twitching as the final drops of semen were squeezed out. Spock slowly removed his dripping hand.  
  
‘Jim?’ he whispered, but he still seemed dazed, no focus in his drifting eyes. Spock swiped his hand through the cooling pool on his stomach, astounded at the sheer size of it, and had the sudden desire to taste. He ran his thumb over the ejaculate covering his index finger, shivering at his own deviant thoughts. With his t’hy’la satiated, his body lax and pliant, Spock stood to retrieve a cloth. Reaching for him, Jim whined.  
  
‘I will be only a moment, ashayam.’  
  
He darted into the bathroom as the protestations continued, and wet a small hand towel, wiping himself off before returning to Jim’s quarters. Therein, he found a problem. Not three minutes after his latest emission, Jim was writhing on the bed again, his erection unabated. Confused, Spock nevertheless snatched away the hand that was already furiously jerking away, applied more lubricant, and returned to his task. Although Jim sobbed for contact, Spock took a second to scoop up some of the semen from his stomach and used it to ease his way further, determined not to hurt him.  
  
‘Hush, Jim,’ he breathed, circling his thumb around the wet head of his cock, spreading the burning, sticky precome over it. ‘I am here.’  
  
Jim keened, his entire body arching towards him. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a rational mind, what with the delicious noises Jim was making, and the smooth, slick weight in his hand, knowing that Jim was this wet, this aroused, for him, and only him. Spock growled at the thought of anyone else going near his One, and Jim moaned in response, his trapped hands twisting in the grip of Spock’s left, enflaming him even more. While his hand worked, he recited the Surakian principles his people lived by in his head, in an attempt to prevent himself from going over the edge. Jim babbled incoherently as he began twisting on each upstroke, a steady litany of his name and variations thereof, a few new bursts of precome under his hand before that litany became a wail, and Jim’s erection pulsed, semen spattering into his open palm. Spock shuddered at the feeling. When he had recovered himself, he looked up from where he had pressed his face into the bed. Sure enough, there was Jim’s ever-present erection, unflagging, and looking extremely sore on the underside. As before, he touched the bright red patch with the pad of his finger, and although Jim squirmed towards the touch, there was pain etched into the lines of his face.  
  
‘I am sorry, ashal-veh. I did not mean to aggravate your injuries.’  
  
He dropped a gentle kiss on to his nose, a bubble of affection rising in him as that nose wrinkled beneath his lips. Before long, Jim was squirming for release again, and Spock had a dilemma. He knew he needed to stimulate him in order to relieve him of this discomfort, but he did not wish to hurt him. As his eyes alighted on the raw patch once more, his mind alighted on an idea. Bringing Jim’s caged wrists from above his head to his stomach, he could more easily reach his erection, and he leant forward, letting out a puff of air over the head. Jim cried out, cock twitching, and Spock touched the tip of his tongue to his frenulum in experimentation. This time, Jim’s hips bucked upwards, and he emitted a shout of his name, garbled, but still intelligible. Spock had found his solution. He tried to justify his actions as he inhaled the mouth-watering musk of Jim’s sex, knowing that his saliva would prevent further frictional damage, and yet he could not deny that performing fellatio on Jim was exciting to him. His penis strained against his trousers in a very physical reminder of his own arousal as he lapped at the head, his free hand moving to hold Jim’s hips down when he bucked up and howled.  
  
The taste of him was overwhelming his senses, the ecstasy of experiencing his t'hy’la in such a way marred by the fact that it was without emotional reciprocation, without even his informed consent, and that knowledge warred with his burgeoning excitement. Jim whimpered as he tongued at the slit, licking into it and swallowing what was offered, greedy for the taste of him. He closed his mouth around the head and suckled, hoping that he was pleasuring Jim properly, and was pleased when that elicited a shrill cry, his hands writhing under Spock’s strong grip. Eventually, inexperienced as he was, he managed to swallow him down to the root, forcing his throat muscles into submission as they protested, and Jim sobbed with ecstasy. Spock’s eyes, previously closed, flicked up to meet his. Jim’s face was open, wild with pleasure, lips parted erotically and eyes hooded, and Spock was gone, pulling himself up and swallowing him back down whole, and up again, so he could bob up and down nearer the head, his tongue flicking out to tease the base of his glans, and Jim howled. He couldn’t take his eyes away as Jim strained for that ultimate, agonising pleasure. His head thrashed from side to side as Spock sucked him, saliva sliding liberally down his shaft. Finally, Spock sealed his lips around the head and hummed and Jim exploded, a hoarse cry leaving his lips as he flooded into Spock’s mouth, who dutifully swallowed all he could, a perverse pleasure twisting within him as he realised that he had something of his t'hy’la inside of him. When the last spurt was ingested, Spock cleaned Jim with thorough, loving licks, determined not to miss anything. He only pulled away when Jim was whimpering from over-sensitivity, his own erection beyond the point of pain now. Without looking up, he retrieved the washcloth and cleaned Jim’s stomach in long, gentle swipes.  
  
‘Sp’ck?’ Jim slurred, pleasure-drunk, sprawled across the bed in magnificent nakedness. His face was pink from his exertions, skin glistening with sweat, and it seemed, at last, that he needed no more release, his flaccid penis lying quiescent against his thigh where Spock had left it.  
  
‘Yes, Jim,’ Spock answered, trying not to sound as if he was rubbing himself against the bed (which he was, a little).  
  
‘Sleepy…’  
  
Spock’s lips curled up at the corners without his permission, his heart throbbing in his side. He ghosted a kiss over Jim’s brow, twisting the washcloth in his hands, which ached to touch him again.  
  
‘Sleep then, my Jim,’ he said softly, and he did, almost immediately, features relaxing in slumber more than they ever did when he was awake. Spock watched him for a moment, a lump in his throat, before his arousal reached unbearable levels. He retreated to the bathroom, turning on the water shower for once, instead of sonic, as high as the temperature would go. In that blistering heat, he washed himself, trying in vain to ignore his throbbing arousal. For the first time since a weak moment in his teenage years, Spock abandoned his controls and slid his hand from his shoulder downwards, a gentle sigh huffing from his lips as he circled his index finger around his nipple. Imagining his hands were Jim’s, he grasped his erection in a loose, unpractised grip and mimicked his movements from before, roughly tugging. He seized in orgasm after less than half a dozen strokes, a shout of Jim’s name escaping before he could stop it, semen pulsing against the wall. His breath left him in little ‘uh, uh, uh’ sounds as he rode the aftershocks. Sated at last, he leant his head against the cool tiles, wiping away the shameful evidence of his lust. He washed himself efficiently from head to toe, dried himself off, dressed, and then went to check on Jim, expecting to find him as he left him. Not for the first time that night, he was wrong.  
  
Leaning over Jim with a tricorder in hand, was Doctor McCoy, a rumpled figure wearing only creased pyjama bottoms and tousled hair. Spock felt a growl rise in his throat as he noted that Jim was still naked, the Doctor’s gloved hands inching towards his uncovered penis. He managed to choke it back, but that one small noise alerted McCoy, whose scowl was something to behold.  
  
‘What the hell happened, Spock?’ he spat, his tone demanding and dangerous.  
  
‘Earlier this evening, I heard noises coming from the Captain’s room. I assumed they were nightmares, and decided to enter his quarters to calm him. However, when I did so, the Captain was…’  
  
He found himself trailing off, embarrassment battering at his shields, but quickly gathered himself before Doctor McCoy could interrupt.  
  
‘… self-stimulating.’  
  
Doctor McCoy’s mouth twitched.  
  
‘And?’ he snapped. ‘Obviously just jerking off didn’t leave him like this.’  
  
‘I apologised for my intrusion, but he did not seem to be aware of my presence, even when I approached,’ Spock explained, gaze cast downwards. ‘He looked as if he was in pain. The noises he made also indicated so. It was then that I commed you.’  
  
He raised his eyes to McCoy, for whom enlightenment seemed to be dawning.  
  
‘Why didn’t you tell me? I might have been able to help.’  
  
‘I reasoned that perhaps Jim would not want anyone to see him in this state. I was also doubtful that anything but release would ease his pain.’  
  
He did not add his third reason for his dismissal of Doctor McCoy. Although his possessive feelings towards Jim were comprehendible in terms of the connection they shared, they would not seem so to the Doctor.  
  
‘Then why didn’t you just leave him to get on with it?’ he asked, familiar frown returning. ‘He would’ve got there in the end!’  
  
‘His penis looked sore,’ Spock said bluntly. ‘And ejaculation did not seem to be occurring despite violent stimulation.’  
  
Doctor McCoy was checking said area even as he finished his sentence, and when he saw the red patch on the underside, he swore.  
  
‘Sweet mother’a God. Looks like someone has gone at it with sandpaper! Haven’t seen a penis this raw since one of my patients got his stuck in a- never mind.’  
  
Spock was glad he hadn’t finished his sentence. He watched as McCoy applied cream gently to the sore spot, shackling one of his wrists with his other hand behind his back to prevent himself from interfering.  
  
‘It looks like he calmed down eventually though,’ Doctor McCoy muttered, as he ran a dermal regenerator over Jim’s skin. ‘Did’ja neck pinch him?’  
  
Spock’s eyes widened. ‘I did not.’  
  
In all truth, it had not occurred to him. The thought of touching Jim in a violent manner, even if it would aid him in the long-run, was sickening to him.  
  
‘Then… _**no.’**_  
  
Eyes blazing, McCoy rounded on him, hissing, ‘Don’t tell me you fucked him!’  
  
‘I did not!’ Spock bleated. ‘I merely helped to stimulate him. He responded to my touch as he had not his own. I could not bear to see him in distress.’  
  
Doctor McCoy stared, a vein in his forehead pulsing in a way that made Spock concerned about his health. In time, the furious red of his face paled, and he no longer looked as if he would have an aneurysm.  
  
‘If I find out you’ve hurt him, Spock,’ he whispered, a threat building. ‘There are plenty of substances in my Medbay that could ruin your life.’  
  
‘I would never!’ Spock insisted fiercely.  
  
The reason why was on the tip of his tongue, but he knew that if Doctor McCoy ever found out, Jim would be informed immediately, and he would have to explain to his t'hy’la why he had ruined their chance of having a bond.  
  
‘Good! Did he settle after?’  
  
‘After the first, he did for 2.5 minutes. He required release a further two times. I discovered lubricant in his drawer, and when that still seemed to be causing him discomfort, I utilised my saliva.’  
  
‘You gave him a blowjob,’ McCoy deadpanned, eyes dull. ‘Lord, send me some brain bleach.’  
  
‘If a deity were to exist, I do not think-’  
  
‘Shut up,’ he interrupted, rubbing his eyes. _‘Then_ did he settle?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Spock answered, slightly affronted.  
  
‘Well, he seems to be alright now. His vitals are all fine. Looks like it was similar to a fever, so he’s likely to have memory gaps. We’re not going to tell him this happened if he doesn’t remember.’  
  
Spock cocked his head to the side in question.  
  
‘Oh, come _on._ First of all, you and Uhura are together-’  
  
‘The Lieutenant and I are no longer in a relationship,’ Spock corrected. ‘Jim has only recently been informed.’  
  
Doctor McCoy looked to be lost for words, his mouth gaping.  
  
‘… How long?’  
  
‘The relationship terminated a week after Jim-’  
  
Spock could not finish his sentence, the final word thickening, clotting in his throat. He swallowed.  
  
‘A damn long time then,’ McCoy scowled. ‘And you didn’t tell none of us? Neither of you? What about poor Jim – I thought you were friends!’  
  
‘Doctor McCoy, I have already had this conversation with Jim, and quite frankly, it was exhausting. I do not wish to explain my reasoning again, although I will tell you that I considered it a private matter, and still do. You are now the third member of the crew to know. Why else should we not inform Jim of the events previous?’  
  
‘Because he’s in love with you, you dumb fuck!’  
  
The words had physical effect. Spock rocked backwards on his heels from the force with which they were delivered, a fluttering beginning in his stomach. He already suspected – how could he not? – but the reiteration from Jim’s best, and most trusted friend was confirmation. A warm flush spread through him, and he could not help but drop his gaze to the bed where his sleeping t'hy’la lay, beautiful and golden and peaceful. And brighter than Spock deserved. A bitterness enveloped him as he considered that he and Jim could be bonded now, were it not for his past transgressions.  
  
‘I know you obviously don’t feel the same way,’ Doctor McCoy continued, softer now. ‘That can’t be helped, but I would ask that you be gentle with him. He’s more fragile than he seems, Spock.’  
  
‘I know that.’  
  
‘You can’t tell him, because it would break his heart even more knowing that you did that for him, that you saw him like that, and you still don’t want him.’  
  
 _But I do,_ Spock wanted to say. _I do._ He stared down at Jim for a long moment, watching him nuzzle into his pillow, and wondered if he would embrace _him_ like that if they were to lie together. But he did not correct McCoy. There was an awkward silence as they regarded one another across the bed, Jim sleeping prostrate between them. As much as he admired Doctor McCoy’s abilities, Spock’s refusal to accept Jim’s affections would always be a problem. They were cautiously, unwillingly linked by the man on the bed, and despite their differences, they would always have a indirect relationship.  
  
‘How’s your head, anyway?’ McCoy questioned, breaking the silence. ‘C’mere.’  
  
He snapped his gloves off, disposing of them in the waste disposal unit. A new pair was donned, and before Spock could protest, he was being poked and prodded, hands gentle, yet unwelcome, around his wound.  
  
‘It is healing well,’ he insisted.  
  
‘Mm. Soon we’ll be able to regen that, but I want to wait until it’s sealed completely. Gotta hand it to you, hobgoblin, your people heal fast.’  
  
Spock endured the probing for only a little longer before he began to shift in discomfort. Doctor McCoy glared at him, but desisted regardless.  
  
‘When’s your next shift?’ he asked, throwing the second pair of gloves into the unit with surprising accuracy.  
  
‘Tomorrow. Beta shift.’  
  
‘I’ll clear you for that,’ McCoy offered. ‘I’m on Alpha.’  
  
He looked at Jim again, in apparent consideration.  
  
‘I know his vitals look okay, but I don’t really want to leave him alone, just in case.’  
  
He trailed off at the end, and Spock knew what he was asking, even if he wouldn’t say it.  
  
‘I will remain with him. I have slept for more time than I require.’  
  
It was not a difficult decision to make. He treasured any time he could spend with Jim, and he also wished to assure himself of his good health.  
  
‘Right. Thanks, Spock,’ McCoy muttered, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’m exhausted. Just comm me if anything happens, okay? Anything.’  
  
Spock nodded, and he gathered his things to leave, lingering by the bed for a moment.  
  
‘Take care of him,’ he growled, waiting for a nod before he left.  
  
Then they were alone again. Jim slept on as if nothing had happened, sprawled out on his front with his head to the side, one leg dangling off the bed. Spock gently lifted him and placed him more to the centre of the bed, taking his discarded briefs from where they were tangled in the duvet, and easing them back on, careful not to stimulate him. Before he had discovered Jim as he was, he had been going to meditate. Now, however, he had different priorities. He would not risk even the shallowest meditative state, lest Jim’s condition become anything less than optimal, and he ran the risk of being unaware of his plight. With Jim in a more comfortable position, and clothed, Spock turned the lights down and left the door to the bathroom open, so that he would be able to slip out unnoticed when Jim woke. He did not like the idea of such pretence, nor, in fact, of not telling him about the events of earlier on that night. But he understood why it must be so. Doctor McCoy was right: Jim was fragile in some ways, despite his great strength in many others. Their relationship was an unsteady seesaw, and Spock did not want to upset the balance any further. He pulled the sheets up over Jim, tucking him in so that he did not wake up cold, and settled in his desk chair to watch over him.  
  
The hours passed surprisingly quickly, despite the fact that he was unoccupied. His eyes did not move from Jim’s sleeping form; no twitch, no change in breathing pattern, no subtle shift was missed by his sharp gaze. At 0536 hours, Jim began whimpering again. Spock’s stomach dropped, as he considered that perhaps whatever had caused his previous arousal had not yet left his system. But as he rolled onto his back, face twisted in torment, Spock noted that there was no tenting in his underwear. A nightmare then. As he approached the bed, Jim began shifting, cringing away from some unknown attacker, body curling up in the foetal position.  
  
‘Please,’ he begged. _‘Please.’_  
  
Spock did not hesitate. His fingers found his meld points with practiced ease, and he slipped back into Jim’s mind as if he had never left. Seeing the familiar panorama was akin to being welcomed home. He felt sunlight on his face in the idyllic centre and turned his face up to it, awed at how perfectly their minds merged together, in the way that those of t’hy’lara should. But now was not the time to bask. Aware that every second he wasted was another that Jim suffered for, he ran for the barrier, behind which a tempest was brewing. Without fear, he passed through and entered.  
  
 _ **‘Fucking useless little shit!’**_  
   
He was transported to a dingy, filthy room with beer bottles strewn all over the floor, some still dripping their contents. It was dark, but for a flickering yellow light on the wall. But what caught Spock’s immediate attention was a bruised and bloodied little boy, limping into the room, closely followed by a swaying, ruddy-faced man. He stared in horror as the intoxicated man swung at Jim, the punch connecting on the right side of his young face.  
  
‘M’sorry, Frank!’ Jim wept, cringing into the corner as red gushed from his nose.  
  
‘Oh, you will be when I’m done with you.’  
  
Spock scrambled for a memory to replace this living nightmare, but the boiling rage he was feeling was distracting, and each one slipped away as he found it. Frank drew a pocket knife, and Jim screamed, eyes wide with terror.  
  
‘Mommy, mommy, mommy!’ he wailed, and though Spock went to snatch the knife away, his hand went through it as if he were a phantasm.  
  
‘Mommy’s not here, Jim-boy,’ Frank slurred. ‘And even if she was, she wouldn’t care. D’you know why? It’s because you’re _nothing.’_  
  
Spock tried even harder to find a replacement memory as the knife was pressed to Jim’s now silent throat, the tip carving a thin red line across his neck.  
  
‘Say it, Jim-boy. Say ‘I’m nothing’, or I’ll slit your fucking throat.’  
  
Jim gulped, tears streaming down his cheeks.  
  
‘I-I’m-’  
  
With a final, herculean effort, Spock pulled away and threw forward their first day back on the Enterprise, with Jim at the helm, and himself at Jim’s side, and the whole, excitable crew waiting for his orders. Back behind the barrier, he watched the storm calm with a tempest within him, fury and distress and guilt and love all tangling together, and transforming into nausea. The golden thread that had sought to connect them during the last meld snaked across the ground towards him, but when he stared down at it, it withered away, cringing like Jim had in the memory. Lifting his face to the sunlight of his t'hy’la’s mind once more, he forced his stomach and oesophagus back under control, willing back equilibrium. Once settled, he pulled out of the meld. The cold of Jim’s quarters was a shock to the system after the cocooning heat of his mind, and Spock suppressed a shiver. Jim slept peacefully now, hands resting on his stomach, his features slack and breathing steady. Shaken by what he had seen, Spock lifted the desk chair to place it by Jim’s bed. He did not care if sitting so close put him at more risk of being discovered when he woke, because he needed to reassure himself that Jim was safe. Later, he would meditate.  
  
He kept his silent vigil until Jim began to stir at 0657 hours. As he moaned in protest of his own increasing awareness, Spock stood, and replaced the chair at his desk. He lingered in the doorway until the very last second, until Jim’s eyelids began to flutter, then he retreated, letting the door close silently behind him. Jim entered the bathroom just as Spock entered his own quarters, and through the walls, he heard nothing amiss. It seemed that the events of last night were just that: of last night.  
  
Reassured of Jim’s safety, he folded himself into a meditation pose, too in need of sorting through the horrors he had seen to light any candles. Trembling and overwhelmed, he settled his mind the way he had been expected to as a child, despite his ‘disadvantage’. He envisaged the dry deserts and blistering winds of Vulcan, and I-Chaya, his closest companion, by his side. With a calmer mind, he objectively recollected what he had seen in Jim’s mind. The terrified child. The monstrous drunkard. The evidence of repeated abuse and alcoholism. He extracted the emotions that these images inevitably evoked in him, and catalogued them, sorting everything into its correct place in his orderly mind. His shields were re-erected, standing tall and strong, though much battered against them. He would not let anything untoward escape. He was a Vulcan, and Vulcans had control.  
  
Spock emerged from his meditation less agitated than before. He did not receive what he had seen easily (and did not intend to let the subject lie), but he accepted it as truth. It seemed that Jim had led a miserable life before he came to Starfleet. He hoped that with the crew of the Enterprise on his side, Jim would eventually feel accepted, and loved, even if Spock himself could not express such things. He was interrupted from his reverie by hammering on his door from the bathroom.  
  
‘Enter,’ he said quickly, concerned that Jim was unwell.  
  
Jim burst through the door with typical enthusiasm, looking as if last night had had no effect on him.  
  
‘Hey- oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to mess up your meditation or anything,’ he apologised, hand running through his hair.  
  
‘You did not,’ Spock assured him, rising gracefully. ‘Do not worry. Are you in need of assistance?’  
  
‘No, I- Well, I just wanted to thank you for last night.’  
  
Heart beginning to race, Spock played the fool.  
  
‘For what, Jim?’ he asked, mouth dry.  
  
‘For switching my light off, and tucking me in. That was you… right?’  
  
Jim bit his lip, seeming uncertain. Spock did not sigh in relief, though he very much wished to.  
  
‘It was,’ he replied softly. ‘You are welcome, Jim.’  
  
Jim’s mouth widened into a lazy grin, before his eyes flicked to Spock’s head and he exclaimed, ‘Your bandage is off! Are you allowed back on duty then?’  
  
‘I am. Doctor McCoy has cleared me for Beta shift this afternoon. Would you like to go for breakfast, Captain?’  
  
Jim’s eyes widened at the last, and Spock was rather startled himself. He had not planned to ask such a question, but it had tumbled out regardless.  
  
‘Yeah, sure!’ Jim beamed. ‘God, it’s been forever, hasn’t it?’  
  
Spock did not have time to answer in the negative before he launched into his next eager sentence.  
  
‘I’ll let you get dressed, then we’ll go, okay?’  
  
At Spock’s nod of approval, he smiled and turned back to the bathroom. Just before the door shut behind him, Spock noticed a faint crimson smear lingering in the left-hand corner of his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, I received 2 anonymous comments on Tumblr attacking me by way of saying that I cannot be a feminist if I ship slash. From their comments, I assume that they have read my fic. So here's to you anon, and your false definitions of feminism: some 'badly written slash fan fictions' from 'an idiotic and brainless fangirl who understanding nothing about women.' And as for the rest of you darlings, I really hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm uploading 2 days early because of time constraints on Monday, so it might be that every second Saturday is the new upload day. 
> 
> If you liked it, feel free to check me out on [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/) (hopefully without malicious intent)!


	9. My Sweetest Downfall

Jim was sure that he had fallen asleep with the lights on. As he blinked awake in the darkness, feeling less rested than he perhaps should have done given how long he’d slept, he realised that Spock must have turned them off for him. The thought of him doing so brought a fond smile to his lips, which only increased in size as he realised that the duvet was covering him – Spock must have done that too. It was at times like this that he dared to fantasise that Spock might feel something for him. Shaking that dangerous thought away with his morning stretch, Jim rolled out of bed, aiming for the bathroom. It was early, but he was already itching to check on Spock and his sore head. He wondered if Spock had ever heard of the concept of ‘kissing it better’. He wondered if he’d let Jim try. It was halfway through his shower when he began to feel sick again, and he stopped washing himself, standing very still, in the hopes that inertia would allow his stomach to settle. It didn’t. He had barely a second to choose between diving for the toilet and staying in the shower, and chose the latter out of fear that he would puke en route. On his knees, heaving over the drain, the thin trickle of red within his vomit went unnoticed against the burning in the base of his oesophagus, and the pain that followed. He turned the shower off when he was done, shivering in place for a while as the water cleared away the evidence, acid reflux in his throat.  
  
Jim wasn’t stupid. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling sick all the time, or having headaches, or not sleeping properly. But there was always an excuse to avoid Medbay. There was too many patients, Spock was the priority right now, it would be fussing over nothing… _always_ an excuse. The shivers had crept up on him while he was kneeling, and now the water was drying cold on his skin, goosebumps rising in the wake of each falling droplet. He shakily got to his feet, wincing as they squeaked on the wet tile, and went to brush his teeth. After he’d cleaned himself up a bit, and dressed in his uniform, he felt like a human again. Now it was time to check on his Vulcan. He rapped on the connecting door between Spock’s quarters and the bathroom, vibrating pathetically in excitement. When bid entrance, he almost broke bones on the door release, given how hard he’d slammed his hand down on it, only to find Spock sitting cross-legged on the floor. He apologised immediately, and thanked Spock for sorting him out the night before, noticing that he had an odd pseudo-expression on his face. He might have asked what that was all about, had Spock not then asked if he would like to go to breakfast. Jim was sure his resulting smile nearly split his face, pleasure bubbling up within him. He left Spock to get changed (though he wouldn’t have minded watching), and lingered in the bathroom, thumbing away a smear of blood by his lips that he noticed in the mirror. When the door opened behind him, he span round in a dizzy semi-circle.  
  
‘Ready?’ he asked breathlessly, the sight of Spock back in his uniform making his heart beat just that little bit faster. He was impassive as ever, elegant fingers curling under his Science tunic to tug it down, but the sight of him well was enough for Jim. He didn’t need a smile. Spock nodded in response to his question.  
  
‘It is rare for you to be awake at this hour when you are not on Alpha shift,’ he remarked, as they left Jim’s quarters together. Jim felt a little déjà-vu. ‘Are you sure you have slept enough?’  
  
His lips twisted in a wry grin, annoyance at Spock’s coddling battling with joy at his concern.  
  
‘Yes, Spock, I’m sure,’ he sighed, a hand brushing his sleeve accidentally-on-purpose. ‘Did you?’  
  
‘Last night I slept for 13.83 hours, Captain.’  
  
As they passed through the corridors, they were both hailed with greetings, but Spock especially. Despite the stereotypical view of a Vulcan as an emotionless husk, the crew had really warmed to him – especially the Science kids – and Jim was pleased to see them bothering about his welfare.  
  
‘Wow, that’s ages for you! Think you needed it though. How does your head feel this morning?’  
  
Now that the bandage was gone, he wanted to thread his hands through Spock’s hair – carefully avoiding the wound of course – and with their entrance to the turbolift, leaving them alone, the urge grew almost too much to bear. He drew closer. Spock didn’t seem to notice.  
  
‘It is tolerable, Captain,’ he replied, staring straight ahead.  
  
‘Tolerable?’ Jim frowned, hand curling around his upper arm and squeezing gently. ‘That’s not good enough. Are you in pain?’  
  
Spock’s gaze dropped to his, dark eyes soft and welcoming. He shook his head.  
  
‘Are you lying to me?’ Jim pressed, unconvinced.  
  
‘I would remind you, sir,’ Spock chided delicately, ‘that Vulcans cannot lie.’  
  
‘Mmm,’ Jim conceded, leaning up on his tiptoes to reach a pointed ear. He breathed his next words into it. ‘I would remind _you,_ sir, that you are half human.’  
  
The doors opened, and Spock twitched beside him, a light flush rising on his cheeks. Jim grinned impishly, sauntering out of the lift, jerking his head in a ‘come hither’ motion as Spock remained still.  
  
‘Come on then!’ he beamed, turning and feeling victorious as he heard footsteps echo behind him.  
  
His confidence was buoyed by Spock’s solid presence, and today, he entered the Mess without self-consciousness, dancing round his First as he strolled steadily towards the replicators.  
  
‘What’ll it be today, Spock?’ he chirped, almost manic in his enthusiasm. He keyed in his own order of pancakes, grinning lopsidedly at him. ‘Fruit, fruit, and more fruit?’  
  
Spock didn’t answer, but Jim turned out to be right, as his plate was filled with nothing but. He guided Jim to a table with a hand barely pressing into his back. Jim couldn’t help but push back into the touch, feeling the ghosting fingers slide away with a ripple of fabric against his skin as they reached their seats. He felt a frisson of pleasure as he realised that Spock had chosen a two-person table away from the clamour of crewmen presumably on Alpha. They sat across from one another; Jim with his pancakes and a cup of coffee, Spock with his fruit and foul-looking tea, and before Jim knew it, Spock had swapped one of his pancakes for a handful of strawberries.  
  
‘Hey! If you wanted pancakes that bad you could have got some,’ he sulked, noticing resentfully that he had taken the one with the most syrup on it.  
  
‘You are taking liberties with your health, Jim, and I cannot allow that.’  
  
He cut up the pancake into dainty triangles and slipped one into his mouth. Jim watched its progress down his throat with hungry eyes.  
  
‘ _‘Allow that’,_ my ass,’ Jim grumbled, but he shoved a few in his mouth nonetheless.  
Spock’s brow furrowed in confusion, and though Jim tried to wave his question away while his mouth was full, he asked anyway.  
  
‘What purpose does your posterior have in this sentence?’  
  
Jim finally managed to choke down the strawberries and answered, ‘It’s just an expression, Spock.’  
  
Spock tilted his head to one side in that puppy-like manner, which made Jim want to kiss the living daylights out of him.  
  
‘Fascinating.’  
  
His tone implied the opposite, but didn’t it always? Jim thought he looked particularly ravishing today, with his skin back to a healthy colour, and his hair like sleek, black silk. Now that he knew what it felt like, it was difficult to stop himself from touching it. Jim watched him as they ate, eyes flicking up between each mouthful to fixate on his bowed, pale pink lips, his gorgeous irises. Spock didn’t seem to care about being the object of such scrutiny. But even such a beautiful sight was not enough to stop the nausea curling in again. Jim shook as he tried to repress it, and when he looked up, Spock’s gaze was fixed on him intently. A weak smile established itself on his face.  
  
‘Something the matter?’ he asked, running his words together in the hope that they wouldn’t make him retch.  
  
Spock said nothing, only watched him as he repressed a gag, and prayed he wouldn’t hurl all over the Vulcan he was in love with. His hands were trembling; he hid them under the table, bunching up the fabric of his pants. Head spinning, he looked dizzily up at Spock. He wasn’t sure what his eyes were conveying, but he was sure it wasn’t good. Just as he was about to run for a bathroom, one hand was covered by the cool, soft skin of another, and there was a sudden, sharp pain in his neck. Spock had somehow managed to get his hyposprays – he must have grabbed them from Jim’s room as they left through it.  
  
‘Ooh, you sneaky Vulcan,’ he said weakly, not feeling well at all.  
  
‘You are ill,’ Spock deadpanned, stating the obvious. ‘Come.’  
  
He stood, and offered him an arm for support. Jim was ready to protest, but as his insides made a desperate counter-claim, he gave in. He looped his hand around Spock’s elbow, and leant on him discreetly as they left the Mess, feeling fragile and shaky. He kept his head down. Once outside, Spock drew him into a dim corner, away from prying eyes, and tipped his lowered chin up with one cool finger.  
  
‘I am taking you to Medbay, Captain,’ he murmured, his calm tone dissonant against his frantic eyes.  
  
Jim wanted to argue, but honestly, he felt so shit that he was prepared to put up with Bones’ tinkering for a bit of respite. He let Spock’s finger slip out from under his chin as he dropped to lay his head in the crook of his neck. Spock stiffened at the unexpected (unwanted?) contact against bare skin, but he didn’t push him away. Triumphant, Jim breathed him in, pushing his nose into the comforting scent of incense and heat and _clean_ – Spock always smelled clean – swaying a little drunkenly as his legs forgot how to hold him upright. Although they were in the relative dark of the corner, he was still surprised to feel Spock’s hands slide around his back, squeezing gently, then one began rubbing in long, slow motions up and down. Jim made a small noise of approval before he could stop himself, daring to nuzzle further into his neck for a moment, feeling ever so slightly better. His hands fisted in the front of Spock’s Science blues, and he held on a little too long as Spock pulled away.   
  
‘Come,’ Spock repeated, sounding almost tender to Jim’s deluded ears. ‘To Medbay.’  
  
They set off in the direction of the nearest turbolift, and he leant less heavily on Spock now that they were visible, for both their sakes. Much as he loved his crew, his _family,_ the lot of them were horrendous gossip-mongers whose Chinese whispers would escalate from reporting casual touch to heavy petting. Still, he was grateful when the doors of the turbolift closed on them and he could basically collapse against Spock, feeling dizzy as heck. As they descended, one of Spock’s arms looped around his waist, the other hooking under his knees as Spock bent down, and he was lifted into his arms.   
  
‘Spock, it’s okay, I can- I can walk.’  
  
His protestations were feeble at best. He couldn’t help but swoon at the show of strength, feeling ridiculous seconds later when he remembered that he was a starship Captain, not a bride. Oh fuck, Bones was gonna tease the hell out of him! He accepted his miserable fate as the turbolift stopped, and Spock didn’t put him down, occupying himself by innocently letting one hand come to rest over a solid pectoral.  
  
‘Captain…’ Spock said, voice strained.  
  
‘Mmm?’ Jim hummed, stroking just a little. There was no reply, and this might have amused him had the dizziness not increased, his head swimming until it lolled back into the crook of Spock’s neck. There was nothing more said as they approached Medbay. The silence ricocheted around Jim’s skull, and with all distractions gone apart from the slow rise and fall of Spock’s chest as he walked, his headache returned with a vengeance. He closed his eyes in defence from the brightness of Bones’ surprisingly well-lit torture dungeon, whining his displeasure into soft skin. His mouth brushed Spock’s neck, who jerked sharply. Jim felt tendons cording against his lips.  
  
‘Spock! What the hell’s the matter with him?’ he heard, in Bones’ familiar bark. He couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it, even as he was deposited unceremoniously in a biobed, Spock’s hands lingering as he fought to ascertain which way was up. He could hear voices surrounding him, but he was finding it hard to focus on what they were saying. In the disorientation, he clutched Spock’s arm, letting his First anchor him as he so often did. There was a sharp pain in his neck, and he flapped his hand at his unknown assailant – though he would bet that it was Bones – only to find his hand pinned. Embarrassingly, he panicked, trying to twist it out from underneath a warm grip. There was a sharp recrimination from his right side, Spock’s side, and he was freed.  
  
‘Sorry, Jimmy. Didn’t mean to scare ya.’  
  
With another, gentler hypospray, his blurred vision began to clear. Spock had remained by his side, of course, as Jim was still clinging to him like a limpet, and Bones was by his left, frowning as usual.  
  
‘You’re gonna end up like a bloodhound,’ he found himself murmuring. ‘All those wrinkles from all that scowling.’  
  
He reached out with clumsy fingers and managed to drag them down Bones’ face, which was contorted in barely repressed rage. Jim laughed - perhaps not one of his better decisions. Bones’ ninja-like reflexes came into play as his hypo-filled hand shot out and stabbed him in the neck again.  
  
‘What’re you drugging me with, you sadist?’ Jim hissed, leaning his head against Spock’s bicep. As much as he was complaining, he had to admit that he felt much better, with his disorientation dissipating and his trembling stilled. Even as he spoke, his headache was easing, and the nausea that had plagued him before Spock’s intervention lessened further, until it was gone. He looked up at Spock for reassurance, and found it in the gentle, dark eyes that gazed back.  
  
‘Oi! Don’t ask me a question then ignore me, Shit-For-Brains!’  
  
Jim tore his eyes away with difficulty, doing his best to look as pitiful as possible. Bones snarled, and held up the first empty hypo.  
  
‘Tri-compound. Basically all the shit you had before but in a stronger dose.’  
  
Then, the second.  
  
‘Propranolol and Dimenhydrinate. For the shaking and dizziness.’  
  
The names of the drugs meant nothing to Jim, but he was grateful for their effect nevertheless, and for Bones. He said as much as he slumped against Spock, but Bones waved him away.  
  
‘S’fine, Jim. But something happened down on that planet, didn’t it?’ he asked, sounding like he already knew the answer.  
  
‘It’s not the planet,’ Jim denied, shaking his head. ‘Yeah, okay, some flower shot its pollen or something at me, but I’ve been feeling like this for a while. It’s just got worse.’  
  
He kept his gaze lowered, somewhere around the region of Bones’ midriff. He was expecting anger, definitely irritation, but when Bones next spoke, all he heard was weariness.  
  
‘Did I or did I not tell you to come back if your symptoms worsened?’  
  
Jim’s face burned in shame.  
  
‘I-’ he began, but then got stuck. _I didn’t want to be any trouble, he might have said. I thought it would all blow over. I was in denial. I’m still frightened of Medical and tests and that awful, clinical smell. I’m sorry._ In the silence that followed he stared determinedly at a random point on the wall, a lump in his throat. Bones sighed.  
  
‘Look, Jimmy, I ain’t mad, just frustrated, I guess,’ he drawled. ‘You’re so self-destructive sometimes, and Dr. Bleeding Heart here has to pick up the damn pieces.’  
  
‘Sorry,’ Jim whispered, closing his eyes against the threatening sting of tears.   
  
A warm hand ruffled his hair, and he felt Spock’s bicep tense against his temple. Thinking it was because of his continuous contact, he forced his head away so that he was sat upright, though his hand remained where it was loosely curled around his lower arm. He opened his eyes to see an empty hypospray in Bones’ hand.  
  
‘What’s happening?’ he whimpered, unsure whether he was talking about the immediate or the general.  
  
‘I don’t know right now, Jim,’ Bones admitted, turning away again to gather more terrifying paraphernalia. ‘But I’m going to find out.’  
  
Jim could feel his nose begin to run, but as he looked around for a tissue, sniffing, the inevitable trickle was stayed by Spock’s finger. He was about to tell him just how disgusting that was, when the finger was withdrawn and inspected, and Jim could see red.   
  
‘Doctor,’ Spock called, ripping away a piece of the bedsheet with an effortless motion. He pressed it against Jim’s dripping nose.  
  
Bones turned, and mumbled, ‘Ah shit.’  
  
He dumped what he had gathered on the tray at the foot of the biobed, and took the bloodstained fabric away for a second to look, before pushing it back and placing Jim’s hand over it.  
  
‘Normally I’d give someone tranexamic acid to stop the bleeding, but you’re allergic to it, which is _annoying._ Just gonna have to wait it out, sorry kid. I don’t have anything else that I can give you with the other drugs you’ve taken.’  
  
He turned his attention to Spock as Jim nodded, taking another piece of the sheet that had been shredded for him.  
  
‘First of all, did you have to use the sheet?’ Bones sighed. ‘There are plenty of absorbent bandages, tissues, pads… never mind. Look, I’ve got a lot of different tests lined up for him, Spock, so it’s probably best you get going.’  
  
Jim froze in place, tendrils of icy fear coiling in his chest. Much as he loved Bones, he hated physicals, because they reminded him of the dispassionate doctors who had healed him roughly, and without sympathy, after Tarsus. But… it wasn’t fair of him to ask Spock to stay. His First seemed to be having doubts himself, a tiny frown creasing his forehead.  
  
‘The Captain might derive comfort from my presence,’ he suggested, eyes flicking down to his arm.  
  
‘Be that as it may, you’ve got shit to do, I’ve got shit to do, and it’ll all get done a lot quicker if you toddle off right now.’  
  
When Spock didn’t move, Bones rolled his eyes.  
  
‘You can come and get him at lunchtime, Legolas, just let me do what I’ve gotta do.’  
  
‘Very well,’ he agreed, sounding almost reluctant to the trained ear. ‘Captain, I shall return at 1200 hours.’  
  
‘’kay. Thanks, Spock.’  
  
Jim’s hand unlatched itself from around his arm like a crocodile clip being prised off, and he realised that in all that time, he had never pulled away. Spock left after a brief nod to them both; the weak part of Jim wanted to call him back. His eyes eventually slid away from the door he had exited through, and fixed on Bones, who was fiddling with a fresh pair of gloves.  
  
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he snapped. ‘I didn’t send him away to hurt you, if that’s what you think.’  
  
‘It never even occurred to me,’ Jim murmured, gingerly taking the sheet away from his nose and dabbing as the flow of blood stopped.  
  
‘Good. I’m going to have to take some blood, Jim, alright?’  
  
He dropped into the chair by the biobed and guided the hovering tray towards them. After tying a tourniquet around Jim’s compliant arm, and tapping for a vein, he sterilised his inner elbow with an alcohol wipe.  
  
‘You’re quiet,’ he remarked, as the needle went in. Jim grimaced at the sharp scratch, wiggling his toes in discomfort. He watched the blood collection tube fill up for a moment before he replied.  
  
‘I don’t want to feel like this anymore.’  
  
His voice wobbled, and he bit his lip in the aftermath, hating himself for it.  
  
‘About Spock?’ Bones asked quietly, removing the needle and putting gauze over the wound.  
  
‘I was talking about this illness thingy, actually,’ Jim mumbled. ‘But I guess that also applies.’  
  
He understood now why the French called unrequited love ‘la douleur exquise’, because it _was_ exquisite pain. It was wonderful and terrible all at once; he loved Spock, every fibre of his being ached for his touch, and he had never felt so much in his life, but the pleasure-pain that dogged him during their daily interactions was exhausting.   
  
Almost as if he’d read his mind, Bones continued, ‘Maybe you should try and back off a bit, kid.’  
  
Jim was already shaking his head midway through his sentence, horrified at the thought of losing their connection.  
  
‘No, no way. I _need_ him, Bones.’  
  
Being near Spock was like being near a candle flame. True, sometimes he got burnt, but it was worth it for the light and the warmth he radiated, consuming Jim, body and soul.  
  
‘But the Admiralty-’  
  
‘We are a effective Command team,’ he interrupted coldly. ‘I am not emotionally compromised, Doctor McCoy, because my feelings do not affect my ability to do my job.’  
  
‘Yes, alright, alright, Princess Jim,’ he conceded, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t really work. Jim scowled his way through the next few minutes, watching Bones bustle around with the blood sample through narrowed eyes.   
  
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Bones huffed, when he returned to the bed, ‘but I’m not trying to be mean. I’m trying to stop you from getting hurt, okay?’  
  
Jim deflated like a punctured balloon, anger giving way to defeat.   
  
‘I know. I’m sorry too,’ he offered, returning Bones’ awkward sideways hug with more enthusiasm than perhaps was warrented. Bones picked up one of the shredded sheet ‘tissues’ and held one out to him.  
  
‘Might as well make use of the Grinch’s handiwork. Cough into that, please. Hard.’  
  
Jim side-eyed him in confusion, but did so anyway, giving him the fabric when he gestured for it.   
  
‘What was that for?’ he asked hoarsely.  
  
Bones let the tissue fall open to reveal a spray of blood on the inside. Jim’s stomach dropped.  
  
‘I suspect that you’ve been vomiting a lot, yes? Your throat seems to be pretty torn up. Seeing as it’s on the inside, it’ll be difficult to regen, but if you want, I can get an extendable-’  
  
‘No thanks,’ Jim said hurriedly. ‘I’ll be fine.’  
  
‘We’re in for a long ride today, kid. I’m going to test whatever I can in the time that we have, because your symptoms are pretty diverse.’  
  
Jim nodded, but he wasn’t happy about it. Before Bones got started with his torture tools, something else occurred to him.  
  
‘Hey, why ‘Princess Jim’?’  
  
Bones smirked, reaching for a tricorder.   
  
‘Don’t think I didn’t see him carry you in, Jimmy,’ he laughed. ‘You were swoonin’ like a 19th century lady with a corset on too tight.’  
  
 _Crap._ He was trapped in a room with this monster for the next three and a half hours. As the blood of his nose clotted, he wiped away the stain that was left behind, and readied himself for the horrors that were to follow.  
  
After nearly two hours of nonstop horrendous, embarrassing, and occasionally painful examinations, Jim’s now ex-best friend seemed to be finished with his torturous probing. Smiling away, and humming – _humming!_ – Bones disappeared for a few minutes to store away all the blood, sweat and tears he had wrung from Jim, returning with yet another hypospray.  
  
‘What’s that for?’ Jim moaned, his protests neither stopping, nor slowing Bones’ advance. ‘I’m like a human pincushion, for God’s sake!’  
  
‘Oh, quit your whinin’! You’re done, okay? But for the record, I am kind of sorry.’  
  
Before Jim could question him, the hypospray was depressed into his neck, and he was suddenly very sleepy, making a half-hearted swipe at Bones’ blurring figure as he was guided down to the bed.  
  
‘You’re a dead man,’ he slurred, the grim expression on his friend’s face briefly worrying, before the blackness took him.  
  
‘Captain.’  
  
 _‘Captain.’_  
  
Jim jerked back into full consciousness to see Spock bent over him in concern, pretty pink lips turned down at the corners. And those eyes… oh, those beautiful deep brown eyes were shining with worry. Jim couldn’t help but beam at him, which only made him look even more alarmed.  
  
‘Doctor McCoy!’ he called. ‘The Captain seems to be out of sorts.’  
  
Jim was very much preoccupied with reaching for those lovely pointed ears, because he wanted to nibble on the tips of them. He giggled deliriously as Spock twitched away, interpreting it as a game, and followed with his hands, straining upwards from his prone position on the bed.  
  
‘Yeah, I stuck him with something earlier to make him sleep after the tests. He seemed like he needed it, but maybe I went a bit overboard.’  
  
As Bones approached the bed, Jim started poking him repeatedly, amused at the purplish colour his face turned when he did so.   
  
‘Yeah, I definitely went overboard,’ Bones grumbled, and something pierced Jim’s neck. He squealed, flinching backwards into Spock, and grabbed him round the waist, shoving his face into his chest. As the other two made awkward conversation above his head, Jim’s foggy mind began to clear. Slowly, he tipped his head upwards to meet Spock’s blank gaze, and extracted his arms.  
  
‘Sorry,’ he muttered, embarrassed.  
  
‘It is fine, Captain. You were not in your right mind.’  
  
Jim’s heart sank. Did he have to be dizzy or delirious for his touch to be accepted? Bones came into his peripheral vision, and he whipped his head round with a savage snarl, remembering why he’d been unconscious.  
  
 _‘Why?’_ he spat, no need for further clarification.  
  
Bones, however, didn’t seem to be taking any of his shit. ‘You needed it. Now shut up and let me talk. Your symptoms are treatable, most of them pretty commonplace, but I don’t want to treat them, I want to _cure_ them. To do that, I need to find the root cause of all this crap, and hopefully, these tests will let me do that.’  
  
Jim quailed beneath his tone, cringing into the bed.   
  
‘And when will the results of these tests become apparent?’ Spock asked softly from his side. Jim wanted to touch him so badly; he’d always been someone who took comfort in being tactile, and Spock’s cool skin was like a balm to his fever. So engrossed was he in his yearning, that he didn’t hear how Bones answered, only saw Spock’s nod of acknowledgement, and the twitch of his lips as if he wanted to say something else. And then they were both looking at him – not in expectation exactly. Maybe they just wanted him to fill in an awkward silence?  
  
‘I’m just going to come out and say it,’ he obliged, eyeballing Bones with the air of the owner of a rabid dog. ‘I want to go down to the new planet again on Beta.’  
  
‘Fuck off,’ Bones exploded, and Spock stared at him, eyebrows raised. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you, and the air could-’  
  
‘I’ve already been down there!’ Jim argued.  
  
‘You’re ill!’  
  
‘I’m fine, and nothing happened to me last time.’  
  
‘A flower sneezed on you, and…’  
  
‘And what?’ Jim challenged. ‘And _nothing,_ that’s right.’  
  
He turned pleading eyes to Spock, who, up ‘til now, had merely watched them like a tennis spectator.  
  
‘Spock, help me out here. You’ll be with me, yeah?’  
  
There was a momentary pause, in which he batted his lashes at his First, widening his baby blues. Spock, in turn, flicked his eyes to Bones and opened his mouth.  
  
‘Oh, hell no!’ Bones groaned. ‘Don’t you go taking his side.’  
  
‘The Captain is correct on all counts, Doctor. I will watch him closely and return him to you if there are any problems.’  
  
‘Please, Bones,’ Jim added, pushing his bottom lip out.  
  
Bones growled, arms folded across his chest.  
  
‘You can go only, _only, I said,_ if you stay here until Beta. I want you as rested as possible if you’re entering an alien atmosphere.’  
  
Jim nodded so hard he felt like his head might fall off.  
  
‘Love you, Bonesy,’ he crooned, blowing him a kiss.  
  
‘Yeah, I bet you do,’ he replied, his lips curving upwards despite himself. His laser eyes then fell on Spock. ‘As for you, look after him, or I’ll sneak a psi-inhibitor into your food.’  
  
‘Is that a threat, Doctor?’  
  
‘No, Spock. It’s a promise.’  
  
Jim believed it too, what with Bones’ temper. There was a western-style stand-off across his bed, both men unflinching in their gaze and demeanour. Amazingly, Spock cracked first.  
  
‘Your terms have been accepted. If you would kindly allow me to remain here for lunch with the Captain, I believe there has been another accident in Engineering.’  
  
‘Shit,’ Bones swore. ‘Yes, fine, whatever. Christine? We’ve got another one! If I don’t see you before you go, Jim, listen to the Hobgoblin.’  
  
‘When do I ever not?’  
  
Spock side-eyed him as Bones scurried away, and he didn’t need to say anything for his opinion to be made clear.  
  
‘Don’t you sass me with your face,’ Jim pouted.   
  
‘I am doing no such thing, Captain. What would you like for lunch?’  
  
Knocked off-balance by the unexpected segue, Jim answered, ‘I’ll just have what you’re having.’  
  
Spock frowned.  
  
‘I will be having Plomeek soup,’ he warned, crossing over to the replicator. ‘It may be unappealing to your palate.’  
  
‘I’m sure it won’t be,’ Jim countered. He very much wanted to like it, because he wanted to enjoy everything that Spock enjoyed.   
  
‘Very well, Captain.’  
  
‘It’s _Jim,’_ he muttered, as a steaming bowl, plus spoon, was placed in his lap. It smelled strange, but not in a bad way, and he looked up at Spock almost for approval before he began. Spock gave him that enigmatic not-smile, raising his filled spoon to his lips, and Jim watched as he had his first mouthful, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, before he took his own. The soup was strongly flavoured, and the spices contained within it were alien to him, but Jim was relieved to find that he actually liked Spock’s favourite food.  
  
‘It’s good,’ he smiled, watching as Spock’s face eased subtly into contentment, his posture becoming that little bit less rigid in the chair next to the bed.  
  
‘I am gratified that you like it, Jim.’  
  
‘Did you have this when you were a kid?’ he asked mid-gulp, cursing himself as the rigidity returned. ‘Sorry, sorry, you don’t have to answer that.’  
  
‘Do not apologise,’ Spock said quietly. ‘I did. My- my mother used to make it for me.’  
  
He returned to his meal with his eyes cast down, and Jim felt like he should say something, like he should try and soothe his pain.  
  
‘I know I’ve said it before,’ he began, voice so low and soft that he knew only Spock would be able to hear, ‘but I’m so sorry about your mom. I think I would have liked her very much.’  
  
Jim didn’t dare look up for a few moments, unsure of what his reaction would be, but then a hand fell on his arm. Startled, he looked up into pained eyes.  
  
‘Thank you, Jim. I believe… I believe she would have liked you also.’  
  
Jim beamed, a rush of love flowing through him. He wanted to dive forward and kiss Spock, but he wasn’t sure how well that would go really.  
  
‘You think?’ he made sure, feeling light and hopeful. ‘My own mother didn’t even like me.’  
  
The latter sentence was meant to come out in a joking manner, but it fell flat and stale as it escaped from his mouth, bitterness injected into his words. Spock’s hand rubbed his arm gently, before it was taken away.  
  
‘I am sure,’ he whispered, and they finished their soup in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Just a note about future updates: I'm coming to a very busy period of my life right now. I'm in my final (dissertation) year of university, I have a job, a music exam coming up, and a number of training weekends between now and January to qualify me for a volunteer position. Unsurprisingly, I have little time to write, and my brain is fried when I finally get a chance to relax. As such, it's possible that updates may come a bit slower than you're used to - I can't give you guys a timetable exactly, but I'm going to try and keep it within the 2-3 week mark as before. That being said, it may be that all that ^ is irrelevant, and I update as often as before. Time will tell.
> 
> Aaaaaanyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and feel free to have a look at my [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)!


	10. These Things I'll Never Say

As they stood on the transporter together, waiting for the landing party to assemble, Spock kept his eyes on Jim. Despite his evident weakness for what Doctor McCoy called ‘damn puppy eyes’, he would not let Jim endanger himself in any way. He would remain by his side and watch over him, as was his responsibility. Should he ever admit to fear (which he would not, as Vulcans should not fear), he might have agreed that Jim’s near-collapse that morning had frightened him. In any other situation, Spock would have found the close proximity between them pleasant, even arousing, but the weakness that had taken over his Captain was no cause for celebration. Even as he lay prone against Spock, even as he stroked his chest with gleeful mischief, sending shivers down his spine, Spock was afraid for Jim.  
  
During the time in which the medical examinations were being conducted, he had checked in briefly with his terraforming experiment, which was advancing well, then found himself with nothing to do but give into the temptation to search for a monster. After circumventing numerous security firewalls and Jim’s own clever barriers, Spock eventually found his stepfather. _Frank Bartholomew, born 2198… status: deceased._ Although revenge was a decidedly illogical concept, Spock could not help but feel a combination of perverse happiness at his passing, and anger at his inability to exact vengeance upon the man who had harmed his t’hy’la. He had then tried to access files concerning Tarsus IV, but found himself blocked at every turn; he hoped that one day, Jim might trust him enough to discuss the famine and subsequent genocide that he had lived through. Winona Kirk was less troublesome to discover, apparently Chief Engineer on the U.S.S. Valhalla. Spock could recall only one communication between Jim and his mother during the year of their grounding, and it had left Jim in such a foul mood that he had refused to see anyone for two full days. Much as it pained him to think of his own mother, Spock had never been displeased with her frequent calls, nor had she deprived him of love: a crime of which Lieutenant Commander Kirk seemed to be guilty.  
  
His attention returned from his past exploits to the present when he heard Jim announce their departure. It took a moment to reconfigure his focus, and by that time, they were being beamed down to what Jim had rather simply dubbed ‘The Flower Planet’. They landed in the midst of a warm, humid jungle, surrounded by chittering fauna and enlarged flora, and Spock decided that it was not an entirely inaccurate appellation.  
  
‘Right, guys,’ Jim projected to the group. ‘Same as yesterday, I guess? Spock?’  
  
‘We are in need of further bark and foliage samples. You may examine the insect life, but you may not take any back to the ship, unless they are already deceased.’  
  
‘What he said! Keep your communicators on, and watch out for sneezing flowers,’ Jim warned, and Spock silently agreed, the idea of an epidemic of sexual need horrifying him.  
  
His ensigns scattered, flanked by security officers, and while he had already seen the analyses of the current collected samples, he was not averse to the idea of finding his own. However, Jim seemed to have other ideas.  
  
‘Come on, Spock, let’s go explore!’ he beamed, one hand reaching for him, then falling between them, as if he had thought better of it. ‘You can collect samples with me!’  
  
The idea of being alone with Jim in such a remote location was both thrilling and dangerous, but Spock could deny his Captain nothing.  
  
‘Very well,’ he agreed, and allowed Jim, almost bouncing in his eagerness, to lead the way. Alone, they travelled through the jungle, past endless vined trees and skittering creatures, and then Spock heard the sound of running water. Before long, Jim did also, and he increased his pace until Spock had to jog to catch up with him. They passed through a dense thicket of trees, revealing a great waterfall and a verdant basin beneath it, into which they had entered. Jim whooped in joy, turning to Spock with a shining smile that weakened his knees.  
  
‘Spock, this is awesome!’ he cried, loud enough to make the strange birds that congregated on the treetops scatter in the air. By now, he was visibly sweating with the heat, and he tore his tunic off to dab at his forehead, the tight black undershirt he left on drawing Spock’s appreciative gaze more than it should have. ‘Oooh, I want to dunk my head in the water. Can I, can I, can I?’  
  
He hopped from one foot to the other impatiently as Spock scanned the water with his tricorder, before announcing, ‘It is safe.’  
  
Jim dove forward – as did Spock, to make sure he did not fall in – and dunked his head in the slow-flowing water beneath the waterfall, coming up for air and shaking his head like a wet dog.  
  
‘Ahh, I feel so much better now.’  
  
With a mischievous grin, he flicked a small amount of water towards Spock, which he stepped easily away from.  
  
‘Aren’t you hot?’ he asked, abandoning his tunic on the rock. ‘It’s roasting out here.’  
  
‘It is a comfortable temperature for me,’ Spock told him. ‘Might I remind you that Vulcans do not sweat?’  
  
‘Vulcans ‘do not’ do a lot of things,’ Jim muttered, but as it seemed that he was making a personal note, Spock did not respond.  
  
‘You know what?’ he continued, tugging at the bottom of his undershirt. ‘I think it’s too hot even for this.’  
  
Spock’s eyes were helplessly drawn to his impressive physique as he eased the shirt off, large biceps and chiselled abdominals causing a tightness in his lower stomach. His newly-bared chest was glistening with sweat, and Spock wanted to bathe him with his tongue, to lap at the salt-slick skin and taste him while he was fully awake and aware. The sensory memory of his servicing of Jim the night previous made his mouth water in wanting. Jim’s lips were curled into a lazy smile, as if he could hear what Spock was thinking. He approached slowly, with a seductive swing to his hips, and stood in his personal space, his fingers catching the hem of Spock’s tunic.  
  
‘Sure you aren’t too hot?’ he purred, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.  
  
Hopelessly aroused, Spock could do little more than nod his head, the majority of his mental capacity devoted to suppressing an erection. Jim’s hands slid away, fingers leaving burning trails striped across his hips.  
  
‘Shame.’  
  
As his touch disappeared, Spock’s breath stuttered out of him in a shaky sigh, his more primal side raging, crying out to pin his mate and take him as was right. He trembled as he fought for control, the discipline of his rational mind struggling for dominance against a formidable foe.  
  
‘Spock?’ Jim questioned, stepping back towards him, the soft voice only enflaming his desire. ‘Are you okay? I’m sorry if I did anything.’  
  
The feral beast that had so threatened to take over became quiescent as he detected fear in Jim’s tone, and when he looked up, Spock could see it in his eyes too. His shields forced their way up again, as if nothing had happened. Jim shivered, though it was evidently not due to the temperature.  
  
‘God, your eyes are _black,’_ he said in wonderment, reaching for his face.  
  
Spock knew that he could not take the contact, not yet.  
  
‘I would ask that you do not touch me for the moment,’ he rasped hoarsely, fixating on Jim’s plush, parted lips. ‘Please.’  
  
Chastised, Jim stepped away, managing to look vulnerable even in his magnificent state of undress. He hovered in front of Spock as he recovered, watching him anxiously with wide eyes. After a few long moments, Spock felt like he could breathe again without molesting his Captain. He nodded in response to Jim’s unspoken question, filled with deep affection as he saw the tension in his shoulders vanish, and the worry lines on his face smooth out.  
  
‘Are you okay?’ Jim repeated, inching forwards until he was back where he had started.  
  
‘I am adequate,’ he replied quietly, hypersensitive at the points at which Jim’s skin was almost touching his own.  
  
‘Can I- can I touch you now?’  
  
Their bodies were nearly in contact as it was, and when Spock nodded, Jim closed the small gap by throwing his arms around him. Spock revelled in the guilty pleasure of the scent of his t'hy’la infusing the air around him, and the heated pressure of his arms. The contrast in temperature between his cool hands and Jim’s warm back was delicious, and he indulged himself by letting them slide over his skin in a gentle caress, one daring to thread into soft, golden hair. Jim sighed, burrowing into him though they could scarcely be closer.  
  
‘Spock?’ he breathed, his nose sliding up the side of Spock’s neck in a shiver-inducing motion. He stopped only when his head was tilted upwards, nose nuzzling at his jawline, and his breath was tickling the lobe of Spock’s ear.  
  
‘Yes?’ Spock choked, fingertips pressing just slight of bruising into his bare back.  
  
‘I-’  
  
He stopped almost as soon as he had started, muffling himself against Spock’s neck, splayed hands fisting and crumpling his tunic. Spock tried to separate them an inch or two, so he could see his expression, but Jim would not move.  
  
‘Jim?’ Spock coaxed, trying to sound as approachable as possible. He brushed his fingers soothingly over his scalp, flaxen hair sliding between them like silk. ‘Is there something you wish to tell me?’  
  
There was a pause of indeterminate length, during which Spock tried to ignore how pleasurable Jim’s shuddering breath was against his sensitive skin. Then, finally, Jim pulled his head from the cradle of Spock’s neck, only to tilt his chin up so that their faces were so close that Spock was almost cross-eyed in his attempt to look at him. From this distance, he could see in high definition Jim’s individual eyelashes as they dusted his skin when he blinked. His lips were parted; they were close enough now that Spock could taste his sweet breath, and he knew that if he flicked his tongue out, he could curl it into that hot mouth. It was a heady, tempting thought.  
  
‘I-’ Jim began again, seeming to gather his courage as he inhaled deeply and set his jaw. ‘I lo-’  
  
A loud squawking interrupted his speech, and they broke apart, Jim tearing from his arms as a strange avian creature came swooping down and snatched up his abandoned Command Golds, its vast luminescent wings scattering dust beneath it as it rose once more.  
  
‘Hey!’ Jim cried, already halfway to the creature before Spock could react. ‘Get off! That’s mine!’  
  
The monstrous bird screeched threateningly, and Spock sprinted towards Jim, who, undeterred by the obvious danger, had grabbed the dangling sleeve of his tunic.  
  
‘Jim, you must let go!’ he warned, grabbing him round the waist to stop him lifting from the ground. The creature shrieked at an ear-splitting volume as it was prevented from taking the tunic, Spock’s superior mass and strength weighing both Jim and the bird down.  
  
‘Like hell I will!’ he roared back, tugging on the sleeve. ‘It’s mine!’  
  
There was an almighty ripping sound, and the tunic was rent in two. Jim fell back into Spock’s chest, who took his weight easily, anchoring him before he fell. The avian creature, with a triumphant squawk, took off with the tattered majority, leaving the left sleeve clutched hopelessly in Jim’s hand. From where he was still encased in Spock’s arms, Jim threw the ragged fabric to the ground in a fit of temper.  
  
‘Fucking stupid bird,’ he muttered, and Spock couldn’t help but agree. The creature had not only stolen Jim’s Command Golds, but also his words. As Spock released him (although he did not seem to be too eager to leave Spock’s embrace), Jim wandered forwards, cursing the bird in particularly colourful language.  
  
‘There are more tunics back on the Enterprise,’ Spock said uselessly.  
  
Jim grunted in response, but turned to look at him anyway. An unidentifiable micro-expression flickered across his face – perhaps regret? Spock wasn’t sure.  
  
He picked up his undershirt from where it had been ignored, hesitantly asking, ‘Want to go and explore the waterfalls?’  
  
Spock nodded, heart leaping as Jim beamed as brightly as the sun beating down on them. The sheen on his skin was evident in the light, but however attractive Spock found it, he knew that remaining outside in such heat was not good for his t'hy’la. Jim flung the undershirt casually over his shoulder, and beckoned him with a tilt of his head and a soft smile.  
  
‘Come on then, Pointy,’ he called. Spock could hear a lingering disappointment in his tone. He rushed to catch up as Jim went dashing off ahead, booted feet slipping dangerously on wet rock as he climbed across to the cacophonous point at which the falling water hit bottom.  
  
‘Captain, wait!’  
  
Spock struggled to remain balanced as he followed his lead, and eventually, he missed his foothold and fell. Closing his eyes as he prepared to hit the surface of the water, he was shocked to find himself suspended above it, caught in a strong, warm grip.  
  
‘Jesus Christ,’ he heard dimly, letting himself be dragged back upright. ‘Number One: you’re fucking heavy. Number Two: don’t ever do that to me again.’  
  
Jim scowled at him as he settled back on his feet, but then pulled him into a swift embrace.  
  
‘Watch where you’re going next time,’ he whispered, before letting go and grabbing his hand. Spock inhaled sharply at the spark of arousal the hold elicited in him, Jim’s burning touch sending a trail of fire from his fingers to his groin.  
  
‘I am capable of walking myself, Captain,’ he said, voice strained as he tried to ignore the wonderful friction of skin on sensitive skin.  
  
‘Obviously not!’  
  
Jim began to make his way to the falls more slowly now, and Spock trailed behind with his hand still encased in Jim’s own, a slave to his pleasure. Part of him wanted to tell Jim to let go, to explain why he was struck dumb by a mere hand-hold, but he didn’t. Shamefully, he was enjoying his t'hy’la’s touch too much to consider the idea with any great conviction. The thunder of the waterfall grew louder as they approached, until they were standing just before it, a fine mist of water spraying out onto their faces (and in Jim’s case, chest). Thankfully, miserably, Jim dropped his hand when they reached it, letting his fingers slip through the flood, trying to contend with the power of the water. Then he bent forward and pushed his head through, withdrawing with saturated hair and eyelashes stuck together.  
  
‘There’s a cave through there!’ he shouted, grinning even as he swiped a hand over his eyes to clear them. ‘Let’s go!’  
  
Much as he disliked flowing water in general, Spock knew there was little point in arguing. In response, he merely stepped through the heavy deluge, emerging in a small cavern covered in glowing dots, which upon further examination seemed to be similar to the Terran Arachnocampa Luminosa. He took a reading on his tricorder, and made a scan of the cavern wall for later analysis. Jim coughed as he entered the cavern, seeming to have swallowed some water on the way. Spock was alarmed to notice that as he covered his mouth with the back of his hand, it came away with a spray of red painting the skin.  
  
‘Don’t worry,’ Jim told him roughly, once the fit had subsided. ‘It’s just my oesophagus lining, Bones says. From all that puking.’  
  
Despite his reassurances, Spock’s anxiety was not diluted. He watched Jim closely as he wandered around the cavern, studying the glowing insects with wonderment, ready to catch him in an instant should he fall again. But Jim only meandered for a while, before dropping down to sit behind the waterline, his gaze off somewhere in the middle distance. Spock knelt beside him.  
  
‘Jim? Are you well?’  
  
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Jim breathed, though his face was drawn with pain. Before Spock could insist on his return to the ship, he continued, ‘Just… this place reminds me of Riverside a little.’  
  
Spock frowned, confused.  
  
‘I thought that Riverside was in Iowa, which does not have-’  
  
‘I know,’ Jim laughed. ‘I know. It’s not the jungle or the heat or the waterfall that reminds me of Riverside. It’s the glow worms.’  
  
He let out a shaky breath, and Spock watched him in concern, staying silent so that he had the opportunity to continue if he felt like doing so.  
  
‘I’m not sure how much you know about my childhood, Spock. I guess you’ve realised that my Mom and I don’t get on, but that’s mostly ’cause she was never there. Always off in space, trying to escape reality off on a ship – leaving us with Frank.’  
  
Spock laid a hand on Jim’s arm as he trailed off, and was pleased when it seemed to bring him comfort. He visibly gathered himself, and carried on:  
  
‘After Sammy ran away, I bore the brunt of his frustrations, and there were very few places I could escape to in Riverside. That’s if I could leave the house, of course, and sometimes I couldn’t even walk, so…’ he laughed bitterly, blunt nails digging into his drawn-up knees. ‘But even if I could run to town, everyone knew who I was, and when you’re already seen as a troublemaker, who was gonna believe me? They always sent me back home. But one night, I found this little copse in the middle of nowhere, and there were little glow worms all around, and even though I was black and blue, and they were only insects, their light made me feel like things were going to be okay. Kind of like the stars.’  
  
He closed his eyes, the lines of his faces smoothing out as if he were younger and back in that copse again, the little boy with great dreams and even greater tragedies. Spock shifted closer to him, squeezing his arm gently.  
  
‘The past should not be forgotten, nor dismissed as unimportant,’ he murmured. ‘But it is not your entirety. I thank you for your honesty, and for your bravery in telling me this. It seems that your early years were tremendously difficult, and yet now you are in command of the Enterprise, the crew of which care about and respect you. _We_ are your family now.’  
  
Jim opened his eyes as he finished, and his eyes shone with tears.  
  
‘Thank you,’ he choked, dropping his head against Spock’s shoulder. Spock stroked his soft hair - an act of comfort that was quickly becoming an addiction.  
  
‘You need not thank me, Jim.’  
  
‘I know I don’t need to, but I want to.’  
  
With a sudden sense of urgency, Jim turned fully towards him. Spock’s hand dropped from his hair as Jim cupped his cheeks, eyes glittering with intensity.  
  
‘Do you know how amazing you are?’ he growled, thumbs swiping across his cheekbones, leaving a faint flush of green in their wake. ‘I-’  
  
Jim’s communicator buzzed, and Spock was filled with illogical rage at whoever was calling his Captain. Jim seemed similarly frustrated, because he dropped his forehead to rest against Spock’s for a few seconds, groaning.  
  
‘Kirk,’ he acknowledged, pulling himself backwards.  
  
 _‘Sir, we’re ready to leave now. The suns are going down.’_  
  
‘Alright, Lieutenant, I’ll contact Scotty. Kirk out.’  
  
As the communicator went silent, Jim’s eyes travelled back to Spock’s. He was beautiful, Spock thought, even in malcontent, with gently pouting lips and chin resting on the heel of his hand.  
  
‘Guess we’ve got to go,’ he muttered, standing. His undershirt, regrettably, was donned once more. ‘Can you find the coordinates when we’re outside?’  
  
‘Of course, Captain,’ Spock confirmed, and they made their slow way back to drier land, Spock walking as close to Jim as was comfortably possible in order to prevent him from falling. Once they had reached the basin again, both unharmed, Jim flipped open his communicator to make a call to Lieutenant Commander Scott. Spock bent to collect a sample of the falls water.  
  
‘Hey, Scotty? We’ve got a landing party to beam up where they were dropped off - get those guys first - but Commander Spock and I are- where are we, Spock?’  
  
Obediently, he reeled off the coordinates, which were repeated by Jim, and then the jungle disappeared. Spock had never enjoyed beaming, not least because of the horror he had experienced when he was unable to save his mother, and still now, the seconds before they had fully materialised were disconcerting. He was not entirely surprised to see that Doctor McCoy was standing before the transporter pad when they appeared, arms folded across his chest.  
  
‘Jim,’ he began, with the world-weary voice of a man who had experienced similar situations many times before. ‘Where’s your shirt?’  
  
‘A bird ate it,’ he grumbled, stepping down from the pad and looking back for Spock, who moved to join him. ‘Thanks, Scotty!’  
  
‘No problem, Cap’n! I’ll see you later,’ the Lieutenant replied cheerfully, hurrying from the room with – if Spock wasn’t mistaken – a book of Klingon grammar in hand.  
  
McCoy’s eyes rolled skyward.  
  
‘A bird ate it. _A bird ate your shirt._ Jesus Christ, why is it always you?’  
  
‘Birds are attracted to pretty things,’ Jim said smoothly, winking at Spock, who twitched in response.  
  
‘Birds are attracted to shiny things,’ Doctor McCoy deadpanned. ‘Do my eyes deceive me, or is that sweat?’  
  
‘It was boiling down there, Bones!’ Jim whined, pulling at the slightly darkened collar of his undershirt. ‘Why are you up here anyway? Shouldn’t you be down in your torture dungeon, polishing your thumbscrews?’  
  
‘Well I _would_ be, but I’ve got some dipshit’s test results to talk through.’  
  
The atmosphere changed in the space of a sentence. As close as they were, almost shoulder to shoulder, Spock could feel Jim tense beside him, and it took no small measure of control to prevent himself from doing the same. Doctor McCoy’s face and voice lost their teasing edge.  
  
‘Come on, down to Medbay,’ he said, as if to a child who needed comfort.  
  
‘Spock can come too, right?’  
  
McCoy sighed.  
  
‘If he wants to, yes.’  
  
Jim turned to Spock with pleading eyes, the hand that pulled on the collar of his shirt trembling slightly. He wanted to place his hand over Jim’s, to curl his fingers between Jim’s own and reassure him that there was no need to fear, but knew it would not be appropriate to do so. Instead, he nodded, and inwardly delighted at Jim’s resulting smile.  
  
‘Are you idiots gonna stand there all day?’ Doctor McCoy griped, already in the corridor. ‘I really haven’t got time for your moony-eyed dithering.’  
  
Jim blushed, ducking his head as he followed, while Spock wondered how a moon could be related to the appearance of his irises. There were still the remnants of the landing party lingering outside the transporter room, and he handed Ensign Weaver the samples he had collected.  
  
‘Take these to Laboratory Three. I will return to analyse them later,’ he ordered, then hurried towards the turbolift where Jim (gaze soft and affectionate), and McCoy (gaze irritated and hostile) waited with the doors held open. The remainder of the journey was completed in silence. Jim fidgeted as they descended to the level of Medbay, his skin waxy and pale under the harsh lighting of the ship. Spock hoped it was a manifestation of nervousness rather than a symptom of illness, but the silence within the lift was so oppressive that he dared not break it to ask. If Jim and he were bonded, he realised miserably, he would be able to calm him through the bond. But they were not, and he could not. Still, as the doors opened and Doctor McCoy strode ahead, he lay a hand lightly on Jim’s back, lowering his shields just enough to send a gentle pulse of soothing warmth his way. Jim started, both at the touch and at the mental reassurance.  
  
‘You-?’ he whispered, but Spock simply quirked his lips upwards, dropping his hand as they reached Doctor McCoy’s office.  
  
‘Have a seat,’ McCoy offered, collapsing into his own chair. They did so, Spock with his usual controlled grace, while Jim’s knees seemed to weaken beneath him, and he clutched the chair seat with white-knuckled hands.  
  
‘Right. We’ve done some preliminary tests, and nothing seems to be absolutely conclusive as of right now,’ Doctor McCoy began, addressing Jim. ‘That’s the bad news. The good news is that you’re showing signs of radiation sickness.’  
  
There was a thick silence after the Doctor’s words for approximately 3.57 seconds.  
  
‘That’s the _good_ news?’ Jim asked shrilly.  
  
Spock could not help but empathise with his incredulity.  
  
‘Yes, that’s the good news, because I can damn well treat that!’ McCoy snapped. ‘You’ve got damaged bone marrow, so I can give you a protein to combat that. Potassium iodide, Prussian Blue and DTPA will bind to radioactive particles in your blood and remove them, and we can manage the symptoms you have until they do.’  
  
‘So… I’m going to be okay?’ Jim asked hopefully, his hands releasing the chair and flexing feeling back into his fingers.  
  
‘Once we’ve treated you, then yeah, I should think so.’  
  
Relief flooded through Spock, releasing tension in the muscles that had been held taut during Doctor McCoy’s explanation. Jim beamed happily at him, knees jumping as he bounced on his toes, and Spock could not help but reach over and pat his arm to display his own gratification.  
  
‘I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,’ McCoy muttered under his breath, before lifting his voice. ‘Right, pills or shots?’  
  
‘You’re going to let me choose?’ Jim grinned.  
  
‘Just this once.’  
  
‘Uh. Pills then, I guess.’  
  
‘Right, just let me go and get them,’ McCoy muttered, already standing. ‘Knew you’d pick the damn pills.’  
  
‘You just like stabbing me!’ Jim called after him, eliciting a series of angry grumbling noises that grew quieter and more distant.  
  
The door closed behind him, and Jim slumped sideways in the chair, his smile lighting up his whole face.  
  
‘I’m not dying, Spock!’ he laughed breathlessly. ‘Isn’t that great?’  
  
‘It is. I am glad,’ Spock grimaced, the word ‘dying’ coming from Jim’s mouth having made his chest tighten in a disconcerting manner. He jolted as warm skin came into contact with his own, Jim’s hand stroking the back of his from wrist to knuckles.  
  
‘It’s okay, I know. I still dream about it sometimes.’  
  
The thought that Jim still suffered with nightmares about the radiation chamber brought a lump to his throat. Slowly, he turned his hand under Jim’s own and squeezed it for a moment, suppressing the bolt of arousal that the action caused; this was not the time for his own selfish desires. The door slammed open, and they broke apart like fornicating teenagers. Doctor McCoy gave him a murderous glare as he returned to his seat, signalling that he had noticed.  
  
‘Right. I want you to take one of each of these four now, then one more every morning. I want you down here every day for check-ups - no exceptions,’ he added, as Jim looked about to protest. ‘Will you remember to take them, or do I have to give them to Spock?’  
  
Jim’s eyes flicked sideways, and he bit his lip. McCoy sighed. ‘Fine. Spock, here ya go. I’ve also got new hypos for you, just stronger doses.’  
  
He handed them all to Spock, who pocketed them.  
  
‘Thank you, Doctor,’ he rushed, eager to express another thought that had occurred to him. ‘I must admit that I am uncertain as to why Jim has fallen ill at the present time. It has been one year and six point five seven four months since-’  
  
‘I know,’ McCoy interrupted, a shadow having fallen across his expression. ‘And as for why? I have no idea, I’m afraid. I’ll try and figure that out once he’s stopped puking every five minutes.’  
  
‘He does not vomit every five minutes.’  
  
‘It’s hyperbole,’ Jim interjected softly, as Doctor McCoy bared his teeth like a rabid animal.  
  
Spock had understood. Perhaps it was not ‘Vulcan’ to feign ignorance, but it was satisfying to see McCoy’s reaction nonetheless. As his gaze remained on Jim, his right eye caught something in his peripheral vision, and he was not entirely surprised to find that it was a tricorder hovering beside his ear.  
  
‘You’re fine,’ McCoy grunted. ‘Now, you.’  
  
He lunged for Jim, who flinched at the sudden movement, then submitted to the scanning.  
  
‘Hmph. You don’t seem affected by anything down there, shirt-eating bird aside. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go to bed. I’ve done a double shift and I’m pooped.’  
  
They stood, and so did he, shooing them from his office.  
  
‘Thanks, Bones,’ Jim said brightly, earning him an (affectionate?) shove.  
  
‘Get out of here and go and eat something – both of you,’ he growled. ‘I’ll know if you don’t.’  
  
‘Yes, Bonesy.’  
  
‘And take your damn pills!’  
  
‘Yeeeeessss, Bonesy.’  
  
‘And be here the day after next!’  
  
‘He will be, Doctor,’ Spock confirmed, as they turned the corner from Medbay, Jim bouncing along beside him. He seemed particularly buoyant for someone who dreaded medical intervention, but as they entered the turbolift, he found that he didn’t need to ask why.  
  
‘I’m going to be better soon, Spock!’ he grinned, swinging his arms. ‘And I don’t even need shots, how cool is that?’  
  
‘Very… _cool,_ sir.’  
  
Jim’s high spirits were both infectious and endearing, and Spock was glad that he would not be suffering anymore. He wanted to say as much, and was relatively sure his sentiments would be received well, but Jim’s feverish happiness and glowing beauty made his throat dry, his words unutterable.  
  
‘Do you want to go and get some food then?’ Jim asked, as the turbolift deposited them near the mess.  
  
Spock couldn’t say no – not to that face.  
  
‘Of course, Captain,’ he replied, allowing him first entry through the doors. ‘Your medication also needs to be consumed.’  
  
‘Uhh.’  
  
Spock considered that to be a sound of affirmation. After collecting their meals from the replicators, they sat at the same table they had sat at for breakfast, and Spock pushed over his tablets. Jim pulled a face but swallowed them anyway with the water Spock had insisted he choose as a beverage.  
  
‘Those are nasty,’ he complained, wiping his mouth before picking up his cutlery and starting on his noodles.  
  
‘You were given a choice, Captain,’ Spock reminded him softly, having chosen the same dish as Jim, only without the meat. ‘You could have been medicated through the use of hyposprays.’  
  
‘They’re _worse._ Hey, how are you so good with chopsticks?’  
  
Despite having collected both chopsticks and conventional western Terran utensils, Jim had very quickly abandoned the former, having fumbled with them. Spock, predictably, had no problems. Deciding the question was rhetorical, he watched in silence as Jim re-attempted to use the chopsticks, placing them between thumb and middle finger with a clumsy lack of coordination. Placing his own utensils down, Spock hesitated before leaning over and adjusting his grip, shivering as the pads of his fingers brushed Jim’s warm palm. Finally, he deemed the position of the chopsticks acceptable, and gestured for Jim to try again.  
  
‘Hey, thanks!’ Jim laughed, as he managed to lift some noodles to his mouth. ‘I’ve never been good with chopsticks.’  
  
‘You are welcome, Jim.’  
  
Seeing his t'hy’la so pleased made the beast within Spock purr in contentment, and he found himself almost smiling, the twitching corners of his lips disobeying his inner command to still. Apparently preoccupied with consuming as many noodles as possible in as little time as he could, Jim did not notice, for which he was both thankful and dismayed. They chatted mindlessly as they ate; though Spock did not see the appeal of so-called ‘small talk’, he was aware that a lack of it often made humans uncomfortable. When Jim had finished his meal, he threw his chopsticks down in the empty bowl and sat back.  
  
‘Wow, I’ve eaten three meals today! That’s an achievement.’  
  
Spock’s eyes narrowed as he replied, ‘You should be eating three meals every day.’  
  
‘Well, sometimes I just haven’t had time, have I?’ Jim blustered, leaning his cheek on his palm. ‘Or I’ve felt sick or… y’know. Stuff.’  
  
‘‘Y’know. Stuff’ is not a valid excuse for missing meals.’  
  
‘People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, Spock,’ he countered, and before Spock could ask, explained thusly, ‘It means that you miss meals all the time.’  
  
‘My physiology means that I require less energy consumption than you,’ he argued, eyes boring into Jim’s.  
  
‘Yeah, but not as little as you sometimes eat. I’m just saying we’re both as bad as each other, and I’ll babysit you if you babysit me.’  
  
The last was said with a lopsided smile, and Spock’s rising irritation faded instantly.  
  
‘Very well,’ he agreed. ‘When shift patterns will allow, we shall eat together.’  
  
‘Great! Now can we go to bed ’cause I’m _tiiiired?’_  
  
Spock knew that Jim didn’t mean for them to go to bed together, but even the briefest thought of them doing so stirred the blood in his veins. He nodded wordlessly, not trusting his voice to remain steady, and stood, gathering their plates to be washed.  
  
‘Perhaps a shower might be in order first?’ he suggested, as they left the mess.  
  
‘Are you saying I stink, Spock?’ Jim asked, mock-offended. ‘You would be right, but still.’  
  
‘I am not,’ he replied. It was true that a thin layer of sweat had built up on Jim’s body, and also that that layer was emitting a faint odour, but to Spock, it was merely arousing. Vulcans did not sweat, due to the precious lack of water on their previous home planet, and the sheen it left on Jim’s skin made Spock want to lick him clean. Engrossed in his own lascivious fantasy, Spock barely noticed their arrival at Jim’s quarters. It was only when he was ushered inside that he emerged from his lustful daze, blinking as if he had been exposed to the sun after lengthy darkness.  
  
‘You okay?’ Jim asked, unselfconsciously pulling fresh underwear from a drawer. ‘I’m going to go for a shower now. I’m pretty glad we’re on Gamma tomorrow; I’m exhausted.’  
  
Spock ignored the little voice in his head telling him to ask Jim if he could join in, and nodded woodenly in response to his remark.  
  
‘I will shower afterwards,’ he offered, following Jim through the bathroom door to enter his own quarters.  
  
‘Great, thanks!’ Jim smiled, beginning to strip off. Spock’s eyes widened as Jim’s glorious upper body was exposed once more, and his hands travelled to his belt. Unfortunately, then he stopped.  
  
‘N-night, Spock,’ he stammered, expression uncertain, maybe even hopeful. Aware that he was drifting into dangerous territory, his arousal peaking, Spock offered his own distant pleasantries and fled into the relative safety of his quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I should change the name of my fic to ‘Cockblocked By The Communicator’, because it seems to happen enough! Genuinely surprised that I managed to get this chapter up today, but hey ho. Unfortunately, on the next 'scheduled' Saturday in 2 weeks, I won't be able to put a chapter up, because I'm off on one of my training weekends, during which I am either in a classroom or completing practical exercises for 23 hours in 2 and a bit days. _23 hours,_ guys. Because of that, I'm aiming to get the next chapter up either a few days before or a few days after that. I'll see how it goes.
> 
> Aaaanyway, hope you guys enjoy, and as always, you can find me at my [Tumblr!](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)


	11. Every Breath, Every Hour

_Jim was dying.  
  
It hurt to breathe and there was **pain pain pain,** but his ship and her crew were safe, and that was all that mattered. All that mattered. He knew Scotty was outside screaming, maybe at someone else, maybe at him, but he was too tired to engage, eyes drooping and throat closing. Stretching up one leaden arm to seal the door behind him, the burning in his lungs dimmed ever so slightly, but he knew the damage was done. He forced his eyes open, and there was Spock, crouched in front of him with one hand dancing across the glass as if in search of a hidden opening. Oh, Spock. Those human eyes always gave him away. Worry. Fear. Regret. Jim watched them flicker by on a loop, his own eyes half-open and unfocused.  
  
Forcing his dry mouth and wrecked vocal cords to cooperate, he whispered, ‘How’s our ship?’  
  
‘Out of danger,’ Spock replied, the angle of his eyebrows softening above shining eyes. ‘You saved the crew.’  
  
Jim’s chest burst with happiness, but he knew he was one of many who deserved praise.  
  
‘You used what he wanted against him. That was a nice move,’ he commended, desperately proud of his sneaky Vulcan.  
  
He thought he might have seen Spock’s lip tremble, but that may have been a trick of the light, or just his blurring, short-circuiting vision, fine one moment and failing the next.  
  
‘It is what you would have done.’  
  
‘And this,’ Jim murmured, having seen the truth of it in Selek’s past. ‘This is what you would have done. It was only logical.’  
  
In between the tantalising memories of **together** and **forever-love** and **yoursyoursyoursJim,** and the heart-wrenching pain of what had come thereafter, Jim had seen him dying in the radiation chamber, the significance never leaving him until he found he could change things around. Now it was Spock who would live, and Jim was selfishly glad, because even now, he could not bear the thought of life without him by his side. He gasped for breath, watching Spock work it all out (clever, clever boy), and finally recognised the tendrils of fear threading their way through him.  
  
‘I’m scared, Spock,’ he whispered, remembering his bravado at the Kobayashi Maru hearing, and Spock’s insistence that the point was to feel fear, with bitter irony. ‘Help me not be. How do you choose not to feel?’  
  
And there it was. As he raised his tired eyes back up to Spock’s face, he saw it begin to crumble, the Vulcan features losing their composure in breath-taking, heart-breaking grief.  
  
‘I do not know. Right now I am failing,’ he choked, pretty teeth baring as he spoke, and Jim knew he had to tell him, knew that there was so little time left, and he wouldn’t waste it anymore. His breath had begun to rattle in his chest.  
  
‘I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die,’ he rasped, barely audible even to himself. ‘Why I went back for you.’  
  
It was stupid; there was still fear of rejection, even now when he was on his deathbed. He couldn’t say what he wanted to, couldn’t tell Spock that he cared for him in a way that he shouldn’t, nor how much he meant to him. Seeing Selek and **his** Jim so happy together had sparked something beautiful within him, and he wanted to chase that feeling ’til the bitter end. Luckily, Spock seemed to have understood.  
  
‘Because you are my friend,’ he replied softly, and **oh, Spock,** was that a tear? He was not quite there, not quite right, but Jim was too tired to correct him now, too cowardly, and he just wanted to kiss that tear away, to wipe away the streak it had left and fall into his arms. Too late. The pain grew ever stronger, and he grunted as he burned inside, lungs on fire. All he wanted to do was touch him. Was that too much to ask? The glass between them could have been miles thick for the distance Jim felt from his warmth. In a final, herculean effort, he slapped his hand against the pane, affection throbbing within him as Spock’s hand, fingers in the ta’al position, pressed against the other side. He adjusted his own fingers until they matched. Once, he’d been told that Vulcans kiss with their fingers. He wondered if that were true. Spock was definitely crying now, but Jim was too weary to raise his head, so he instead fixed his smiling eyes on their hands, connected were it not for the impenetrable barrier between them. With his sight dimming, their hands began to blur, and he forced his gaze upwards. He wanted Spock’s face to be the last thing he saw. He watched the crumpling of his features and his shaky breath through tunnelling vision, and goddammit, he wanted to tell him how he felt, but nothing came out bar a cough, so he pulled his lips into the best imitation of a smile that he could before the blackness crept in, and then he was alone. So alone in the dark with naught but his terror and regret and-  
  
_ He half sat up as he jerked awake, mere centimetres from knocking his forehead against Spock’s, who was kneeling beside him on the bed. Spock’s eyes were wide and alert, pupils flitting around in apparent alarm. Breathing heavily as he tried to stop panicking, his thundering heart going ten to the dozen, Jim couldn’t help but ask, ‘Spock, what-?’  
  
‘I apologise for the invasion of your privacy,’ he whispered, his left side lit by the glow coming from the open door, and his hair rumpled. Jim realised belatedly that his forearms were being held in a firm grip against his chest, ‘You called out in your sleep, and I found I could not deny you.’  
  
‘What did I say?’ he blurted, voice wobbling dangerously.  
  
‘My name. You were projecting as I entered the room.’  
  
Jim trembled in his grip, both because of the trauma of reliving his death, and the fear that Spock had seen how he felt. _That_ could be either very, very bad, or very, very good, but Jim knew that the likelihood of the latter being true was almost zilch. Spock’s grip tightened in a reassuring squeeze. His features may have been softened by the distant light, but to Jim, his face seemed more expressive than usual, gentle and concerned.  
  
‘I saw the last of your memory,’ he eventually continued, putting Jim out of his misery. ‘That darkness... I-’  
  
He trailed off, throat working even as his vocal cords did not, and for some reason, this made Jim feel even worse. He’d upset his unflappable Vulcan, which, in turn, upset him. He wasn’t calming, no matter what he tried. In fact, he felt like crying. With traitorous tears beginning to well in his eyes, he squeezed them shut and turned his face into the pillow, half-hoping that Spock would leave and pretend this had never happened.  
  
‘Jim,’ Spock said gently, releasing his forearms so that he could slide his hands up to Jim’s shoulders instead. Sniffling in earnest now, he shook his head, letting the pillow absorb the tears that dripped across the bridge of his nose, and down his temple.  
  
 _‘James.’_  
  
Jim nearly stopped breathing as he was pulled upright, as if he were weightless, and into Spock’s lap. At some point, Spock had stopped kneeling, and was now sat cross-legged on the bed, Jim resting in the depression between his legs. One tentative hand cradled the back of his head and guided it carefully into the crook of Spock’s neck, while the other stroked along his upper arm. Here, he felt safe. The pressure continued to build behind his eyelids even so.  
  
‘I would not presume to tell you how to emote,’ Spock murmured, his hand smoothing down Jim’s unruly hair, ‘but I will not judge you for your tears.’  
  
His gentle words opened the floodgates. Jim buried his face into soft skin as he began to sob, almost suffocating himself with the need to be close. Spock indulged him, long limbs cradling him, holding him as he cried. Jim’s hands were curled in the silk of his pyjama shirt, one over his chest, and the other near his hip where his heart beat a steady rhythm, its presence a comforting constant. A breath spluttered jaggedly out of him as Spock murmured, soft and deep, ‘You are safe, Jim. I am here.’, and he briefly wondered if the wet patch his tears were leaving was uncomfortable, before a tender hand carded through his hair, and another wave overtook him. He cried until he was spent, hiccupping miserably, a wreck in Spock’s warm arms. His eyes ached. Snuffling through a congested nose, he was surprised to find a tissue dangling in front of his face, and took it from Spock gratefully to clear his airways.   
  
‘Thank you,’ he said, wincing at how nasal his voice was.  
  
‘You are welcome, Jim.’  
  
Though Jim’s tears had dried, neither of them seemed terribly inclined to move. Jim certainly wasn’t, and Spock’s hands continued their respective journeys through his hair and on his arm, so he stayed where he was, leaning sideways against his chest.  
  
‘Thanks,’ he repeated, exhausted again after his extended crying jag. ‘For this, I mean.’  
  
‘There is no need to thank me,’ Spock asserted. His hand left Jim’s hair, and Jim felt its loss keenly. ‘Had I known that you have suffered so, I would have intervened earlier.’  
  
His other hand dropped from Jim’s arm, and while he knew that Spock would never insist that he move, he realised that the moment was over. He crawled out of the comfort of Spock’s lap, shivering as he turned to sit facing him.  
  
‘You are cold. Perhaps the temperature controls-’  
  
‘I’m fine, Spock,’ Jim insisted, shaking his head. A mere ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. ‘Just a bit freaked, that’s all.’  
  
Spock watched him silently, those big brown eyes awash with concern. Jim misinterpreted the silence as discomfort.  
  
‘I’ll get over it.’  
  
Frowning, he picked at a loose thread on the duvet, eyes boring into it as if it held the secrets of the universe. He didn’t want Spock to leave. Hell, he _never_ wanted Spock to leave, but tonight was different. Tonight, he’d seen Jim fall apart, open and vulnerable, and had not judged him for it. There were so many things that he wanted to tell Spock, so many things that could spill from his lips and change their relationship in minutes, but he couldn’t lose him. He would rather spend the next four and a half years in quiet agony than lose him completely. Fuck. As exhausted as he was, there was no chance he was sleeping tonight. Not with the nightmares _and_ the hopeless dilemma that Spock was becoming.   
  
‘I do not wish for you to simply ‘get over it’,’ Spock whispered, catching his attention with the brush of a finger against his knee. ‘Such things are not easily forgotten, by any of us. The trauma of your temporary death affected us all, but you are the one who suffered the most. I would like for you to heal, and if that takes time, then so be it.’  
  
As always, Spock understood perfectly. Jim gave him a much more genuine smile than before, pulling the duvet up around him.  
  
‘I will, in time. You help,’ he ventured, biting his lip.  
  
Spock’s own lips quirked upwards, and he began to rise from the bed.  
  
‘I am gratified to hear that. Are you in need of anything else, Jim?’  
  
Jim knew what he wanted, but he didn’t dare ask. Spock was already stood by the bed, and while he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out.  
  
‘If you have a request, then make it,’ Spock said kindly. ‘It is unlikely that I will deny you.’  
  
Ah, fuck it.  
  
‘Well, I was just wondering- I mean, I know it sounds stupid, but… Could you- could you maybe stay for a bit? Like, until I fall asleep.’  
  
It was said all in a rush, eyes down, blurted out in shame. He was a grown man, for God’s sake, and he could damn well deal with his own shit, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t appreciate the company. Then the mattress dipped, and his head shot back up.  
  
‘Do you wish for me to sit at your desk?’ Spock asked, hands poised to lever himself back off the bed.  
  
‘No, no, that’s fine, that’s great, thanks,’ Jim replied breathlessly, hardly believing his eyes. ‘Are you comfortable?’  
  
‘I am. Perhaps it would be beneficial for you to lie down.’  
  
‘Y-yeah.’  
  
Jim settled on his front, turning his head to face Spock, who sat at a perfect 90 degree angle against the pillows Jim never used. Spock pulled the duvet up to his chin, much as Jim had done when he was injured.  
  
‘Is this acceptable?’ he inquired.  
  
‘Yeah, Spock, thanks,’ Jim said weakly. ‘You know, you can lie down if you want?’  
  
 _Stay with me. Sleep here, with me._  
  
‘I am comfortable like this.’  
  
Jim nodded in acknowledgement, and burrowed further into his pillows, eyes drooping. Spock turned the lights down.  
  
‘Sleep Jim,’ he murmured, his voice a security blanket in the dark. Jim inched a hand out, and hooked his little finger in the black silk sleeve of Spock’s pyjamas. When nothing was said in reprimand, he relaxed, and with Spock’s warm, comforting presence beside him, he soon fell asleep.   
  
When he woke, the right side of the bed was empty. He had expected it, but it still felt like a punch in the gut, no matter how much he told himself to suck it up. Spock was not _his,_ however much he wanted him to be. He owed him nothing, and in contrast, Jim owed him to Terra and back. When his hand shifted from its position beside his head, he realised that it felt sticky.  
  
‘Lights, 70 per cent,’ he called, and found himself in a veritable pool of blood. He scrambled upright, head spinning, only to see the great red patch that covered the lower half of his pillow and the sheet below it. _Drip. Drip. Drip._ He brought a hand up to his face, finding a sluggish stream of blood flowing diagonally from his nose. Deciding that the sheet was useless now, he ripped it from the base of the bed and shoved it against his nose. Blood bloomed across the fabric, leaving sticky residue on his formerly clean hand. He could feel it plastered across his face, in his hair. Wondering how much blood he could lose before he passed out, Jim forced himself to his feet, dizziness nearly sending him toppling straight back down again. In the end, after several abortive attempts to make his way to the bathroom door without faceplanting the floor, he crawled on his hands and knees to it, dragging the sheet with him, even just reaching for the door release feeling like mission impossible. When he eventually managed it, he toppled over into the bathroom.  
  
‘Jim?’ came Spock’s voice from his quarters, strong and demanding.  
  
‘M’here,’ he replied, tasting iron. The door opened and he closed his eyes in relief. ‘Dizzy…’  
  
He forced them open again as the dragging sheet was gingerly removed from his nose, then promptly replaced. Spock, now kneeling, pulled his communicator from his belt.  
  
 _‘McCoy here.’_  
  
‘Jim is bleeding excessively from the nose. I do not believe that he can stand.’  
  
 _‘Shit, is he conscious?’_ Bones asked, and Jim forced a ragged ‘yeah’ from his throat. _‘I’ll be there in five. Give him his tablets.’_  
  
Jim coughed into another part of the sheet as the call ended, and it came away spotted with red. Spock regarded him grimly for a second, and then stood. Jim grabbed his wrist in a panic. He couldn’t focus on anything, just like in the radiation chamber, and he was frightened of being left alone again.  
  
‘I will be less than twenty seconds,’ Spock reassured him. He let go. Sure enough, although it may have felt like an eternity to him while he was collapsed on the floor, Spock returned within the allotted time, tablets in hand. He filled the cup that rested on the side of the sink with water, and passed it to Jim, giving him the tablets one by one to swallow. His hand steadied Jim’s when it shook too much, sending water sloshing onto the floor.  
  
‘Thanks,’ he whispered. ‘Ugh, Spock.’  
  
He felt weak as a kitten. The bleeding hadn’t stopped, and the more he lost, the lighter his head became, losing the little focus he had had in the first place. His head lolled sideways, and Spock slipped a hand around the back of his neck to keep it upright. A cloth was produced, seemingly from nowhere, before he was assaulted with cold water, flinching as the residual blood was cleaned from his face. Spock’s forehead creased slightly while he worked; Jim couldn’t help but stare. Although he wasn’t moving, the world was spinning around him, and despite the shock of icy water as his still-bleeding nose was wiped with the cloth, he just felt like going back to sleep.  
  
‘Jim,’ Spock said quietly, then more urgently. _‘Jim.’_  
  
‘Wha’?’ _Shush, Spock, it’s time to sleep._  
  
Eyes rolling back in his head, Jim began to succumb to unconsciousness. Faintly, he could feel Spock shaking him by the shoulders, and could hear the heavy tread of boots approaching, yet however much he fought for lucidity, he was so, so tired. That was, until something sharp pierced his neck, and dragged him back into the conscious world. He blinked awake, no longer feeling like his eyelids were being weighed down, and was confronted by Bones’ furiously worried expression very close to his face. Furious being the operative word.  
  
‘Ah, Jesus Christ!’ he hissed, unsure as to whether his alarmed tone was due to the shock or the fear that Bones was going to slice his dick off with a scalpel. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong!’  
  
‘You’ve always done something wrong,’ Bones growled. ‘That’s not why I’m pissed. It seems that for once you’ve actually taken your damn medicine, and there’s no reason for all this mess.’  
  
‘My blood isn’t _mess,’_ Jim sulked.  
  
‘This whole situation is a fuckin’ mess. Just adding more shit to the shitstorm that is my life.’  
  
Spock was hovering uncertainly behind Bones as he ranted, following the empty hypo that he was swinging about with wary eyes.  
  
‘Doctor, I would ask that you calm yourself,’ he insisted, snatching the hypospray from his hand.  
  
‘Spock, I would ask that you shut your cakehole.’  
  
The hypo was snatched right back, and Bones took away the sheet from under his nose.  
  
‘Least the blood’s finally clotting,’ he muttered, tilting Jim’s head back and peering at his nostrils. Jim could only imagine how attractive that view must be to Spock. ‘And I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna need any transfusions, even though it was a gusher. Still wanna take a look in Medbay though.’  
  
‘No.’  
  
Both Bones and Spock stared at him. The vein in Bones’ left temple was throbbing insistently.  
  
‘Whaddaya mean, ‘no’?’ he snarled.  
  
‘I _mean,_ you’ve got a fuckload of ‘flu patients down in Medbay, and considering the number of changes to the rosters I had to make last night, there’s no beds available. It was just a nosebleed, Bones. A horrible one, yeah, but still just that.’  
  
‘I don’t like it,’ Bones said grumpily, after the inevitable ten seconds of considering and frowning.  
  
‘Yeah, funnily enough, I don’t like being in a pool of blood myself,’ Jim countered. ‘But I’m fine, okay? I’m fine.’  
  
‘Fine has variable definitions,’ Spock murmured, just like he had when Jim first got sick.  
  
‘Yeah, what he said. You’ll call me if anything else happens, _and_ I want you down in Medbay later on during Beta so I can examine you.’  
  
It wasn’t a question. Jim nodded regardless. Untangling himself from the sheet, he began to stand, grateful for Spock’s sudden steadying hand at his elbow. He flashed him a quick smile in thanks. The dizziness remained, like he’d been spun too quickly on the waltzers, but it wasn’t as bad as before, and it looked like Spock was going to keep him standing anyway. He looked pointedly at Bones.  
  
‘Fine, fine, you stubborn ass,’ he muttered, collecting what little paraphernalia he must have brought straight from his quarters. ‘Remember your tablets and the check-up, alright? And _comm me.’_  
  
‘Yes, mother,’ Jim sing-songed, narrowly avoiding a clip on the ear as Bones left, with a parting ‘do as you’re told, infant!’  
  
Spock’s hand remained at his elbow as the door slid shut, and when he wobbled forward, the other one slipped around his waist.  
  
‘Spock, why is it always me?’ he asked, eyes closed.  
  
‘I do not know. However, I know that I do not like it.’  
  
‘Yeah, me neither,’ he groaned. ‘I’m like Mother Nature’s punchb- _Jesus.’_  
  
Having opened his eyes to look at Spock, he had caught sight of his face in the mirror above the sink. He looked like an extra in a horror movie, with blood smeared across his face and congealing in his hair. He rubbed a lock between his finger and thumb in disgust, making a small noise of displeasure as they came away smeared in red.  
  
‘Fuck, looks like I’m going to have to have another shower.’  
  
Spock blinked owlishly at him, and Jim suddenly noticed a tuft of hair sticking up on his crown. He smoothed it down with a finger.  
  
‘You are still unwell,’ Spock blurted, as if that touch had unfrozen him. ‘You might fall.’  
  
Jim sighed.  
  
‘If I feel like I’m going to fall, I’ll call for you. That fair?’  
  
‘I shall wait outside the bathroom door,’ Spock promised, and Jim knew he would do exactly that until the moment he emerged.  
  
‘Okay,’ Jim agreed, but Spock didn’t move. ‘You’re going to have to let go for me to do that.’  
  
‘My apologies, Captain.’  
  
He did so immediately, making sure that Jim was able to stand without his support before retreating to the doorway.  
  
‘I will be just outside, should you need my help.’  
  
‘Yeah, thanks.’  
  
Jim first emptied his bladder – he’d needed a piss since he’d woken up – then slowly began to take his boxers off. His head was still quite fuzzy, and he used the sink as support when he had a hand free, kicking the unwanted fabric into the disposal unit. Aware that Spock was wasting his valuable time standing outside, he washed quickly, turning the water to lukewarm in a useless attempt to shock himself out of the lingering dizziness he was feeling. His attention then moved to his hair, but when slippery fingers went to grasp the shampoo bottle, it slithered right through them, landing on the shower floor with a dull thud. Jim swore, ignoring the way his head swam as he bent to retrieve it. As soon as he had a proper grip, the door slid open, and Spock came haring into the room.   
  
‘Jim, are you-’  
  
Their eyes met. Jim, hyperaware of his total nudity in a transparent glass box six feet away from him, slowly straightened up. The shampoo bottle dangled from his limp left hand. Spock looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, except that his pupils were dilated on Jim’s body and not a 110-watt beam. His eyes flickered down, just for a second, and Jim was pleasantly surprised to feel that his dick wasn’t rising like the kraken. He supposed he’d lost too much blood for an unwelcome boner.  
  
‘It was- I dropped the shampoo…’  
  
There was a familiar tingle beginning in his groin. Fuck. Perhaps he’d spoken too soon. He moved the shampoo bottle to cover himself, hoping that it hadn’t been noticed. Luckily, Spock’s gaze now seemed to be fixed on his face, and he would have thought he’d imagined him looking, was it not for the green flush that was settled across his cheekbones. God, that was cute. He wanted to pull Spock into the shower and have his wicked way with him, but he didn’t think that would go down so well.  
  
‘I-I apologise,’ Spock stuttered, his blush deepening, and Jim couldn’t help but let his lips curl into a lazy grin.  
  
‘You know, Spock,’ he teased. ‘If you wanted to come in here with me, all you had to do was ask.’  
  
Spock visibly twitched. His hands moved to tug at the bottom of his tunic, lips parted in a little ‘o’, but he did not speak. Jim took pity on him. He knew he had to look really fucking sexy right now (minus the blood, of course).  
  
‘I’m joking, alright?’ he lied, feeling a sudden rush of love that stole his breath away as Spock relaxed, regaining his composure. ‘It was just a little misunderstanding, don’t worry.’  
  
‘Vulcans do not worry,’ Spock said automatically. ‘However… on rare occasions, my human side does prevail.’  
  
Jim wanted to kiss him for admitting that. He knew how hard it was for Spock to accept his mixed heritage, especially after the torment he had endured from his peers on Vulcan. Little by little, in the months of their grounding, he had managed to drag minute details out of him about his childhood, and found that it explained a lot about his personality. Huh. Now Jim just wanted to cuddle him. Was this what love was? Being a total slave to unpredictable emotions? Even if it was - fuck it, he was still well and truly along for the ride. Surprisingly, Spock was still there after his impromptu internal monologue, widened eyes fixed unwaveringly on his face.  
  
‘So, um, I just need to get this blood out of my hair, then I’ll be right there with you.’  
  
As if he were a marionette with his strings being pulled, Spock’s full body jerked.  
  
‘Of course,’ he agreed abruptly, turning and stumbling out of the room with his head down. Jim watched him go with wistful regret. As the door closed, his eyes then slid between the shampoo bottle and his dick, still valiantly at half-mast. There was no chance he was jerking off with Spock just outside, as much as he might want to. Blowing out a shaky breath, he worked a handful of shampoo into a lather and scrubbed his hair, alarmed and slightly impressed at the sheer amount of water that turned pink as it drained away. It was only when he got out of the shower that he realised he was still quite dizzy, the movement making his upper body lurch forward further than his lower body. He caught himself on the sink, grateful for something at waist height, and dried himself off quickly, before wrapping the towel round his waist.  
  
‘I’m decent!’ he called, and Spock re-entered the room, the sweet green flush, sadly, gone from his cheeks.  
  
‘How are you feeling, Jim?’  
  
‘If I say ‘fine’, will you have me carted off to Medbay?’ he asked, opening the door to his quarters.  
  
‘The word is often woefully inaccurate,’ Spock replied, following him as he ambled back into his own room, fingers scraping the wall just in case, and took out a new uniform set, ‘but no, I will not.’  
  
With fresh underwear in hand, Jim stood awkwardly in his towel, wondering whether it was appropriate to get changed with Spock in the room. To be honest, he wasn’t really bothered, but he was sure Spock would be after the expression he’d worn in the bathroom.  
  
‘Close your eyes,’ he said softly, noticing with amusement Spock’s non-compliance and confused forehead crinkle. Then he dropped the towel. Spock’s eyes snapped shut a millisecond later, that familiar blush returning to his cheeks. Jim wanted to see it spread; he wanted to see his ears and his chest and his fingers and his cock turn pretty, pretty green, and he _definitely_ wanted to suck a love bite into his neck and see how deep that green would go. However, he ran the risk of both alienating him forever, and losing his captaincy, and he wasn’t quite sure when the former had become more abhorrent to him than the latter. Shaking the thought away, he struggled into his uniform before Spock could worry about his silence, and tapped him on the shoulder. Spock opened one eye cautiously, then the other when he saw that Jim was dressed.  
  
‘I did warn you, you know.’  
  
‘That you did, Captain,’ Spock accepted, picking up the abandoned towel and throwing it effortlessly into the disposal unit with the flick of a wrist. ‘I will endeavour not to disobey you again.’  
  
‘You don’t have to obey me when we’re off duty,’ Jim smiled, before seeing the bloodbath that was his bed made it turn into something more like a grimace. He tottered forward on still-wobbly legs, and sat on the end, beginning to strip the sheets off around him. A moment later, Spock joined in.  
  
‘You don’t have to do that,’ he protested weakly, feeling especially inadequate, as Spock’s efficiency was about ten times that of his. ‘Seriously-’  
  
‘I am aware of that. And yet, I do.’  
  
Jim stopped arguing. Within a minute of Spock’s assistance, the bedsheets were removed, and a fresh set were collected. Spock handed him two pillows and their cases to deal with while he made the rest of the bed, tipping him forward over one solid arm whenever he needed to get underneath him. Strangely, Jim found it more arousing than humiliating.  
  
‘Is that acceptable, Jim?’ Spock inquired, and he stared at the perfect hospital corners with envy.  
  
‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’  
  
Spock nodded. He didn’t look like he was in any rush to leave, but as much as Jim wanted to be with him, he knew that being both First Officer and Science Officer meant that Spock had a task list as long as his arm. He leant back on his arms on the perfectly made bed, and caught his eye.  
  
‘Hey, I’m totally not throwing you out or anything, but haven’t you got an experiment to supervise?’ he asked.  
  
‘I have handed the terraforming experiment off to Lieutenant Barrows,’ Spock answered, coming to stand at parade rest. ‘There are no more that I am required to supervise at this time.’  
  
‘What about yesterday’s trip planet-side? I’ve got reports, so you must too.’  
  
‘I completed my report last night. However,’ he added, perhaps begrudgingly, ‘I am obligated to complete an analysis of the samples from the planet below.’  
  
‘Oh, come on, you love that!’ Jim laughed, noticing his sour expression.  
  
Spock paused.  
  
‘I do not dislike it.’  
  
Oh yeah, he loved it alright. Jim tipped his head back, and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.   
  
Eventually, he did so, admitting, ‘I do not wish to leave you alone.’  
  
‘Spock, that’s sweet, but I’ll be fine,’ Jim soothed, a warmth settling in his chest at Spock’s obvious concern. ‘I promised I’d comm Bones if I felt bad again, and if you want, I’ll comm you too. I really don’t want to keep you from your work.’  
  
Again, Spock paused, and Jim briefly wondered if he’d offended him. However, it soon became apparent that his silence was one of consideration, not dismay.  
  
‘We are both on Gamma Shift, correct? I am 99.23 per cent sure that I can complete all major analyses on the samples by 1900 hours, and therefore I propose that we meet for dinner here at 1915 hours. You, of course, will be here already.’  
  
Jim was going to protest Spock’s assumption that he wasn’t going to leave, but that was overridden by the pleasurable twist in his gut that was provoked by his suggestion of a dinner between just the two of them. _You win this round, Mr. Spock._  
  
‘Sounds good to me,’ he chirped, settling himself sideways across the bed, back against the wall. Spock’s eyes followed him with pointed focus, flickering across his face, and then to the legs that still trembled as he used the floor as leverage.  
  
‘Very well,’ Spock conceded, removing the three hyposprays from his pocket and placing them on Jim’s desk. He then retreated, pressing the door release to the bathroom. ‘I wish to hear from you if you are afflicted with any more symptoms, Captain.’  
  
‘Promise! I’ll see you later,’ Jim beamed, giving him a little wave. Spock replied with a slow nod, before leaving for his own room, and a few moments later, Jim faintly heard him enter the corridor.   
  
‘Computer? Time.’  
  
‘The time is 1126 hours.’  
  
Great, that was more than seven hours to kill, excluding the time he would have to spend in Medbay, and Jim wasn’t exactly fantastic at sitting still for extended periods of time. Unwilling to move from the comfy spot he’d embedded himself in, he managed to reach the padd on his desk with his fingertips, and dragged it towards him. There were a number of reports to complete, including the mandatory one he had to send to Starfleet every time they beamed down to a planet, but he really wasn’t in the mood yet. Then his eyes alighted on the list of his latest correspondences. Bingo. He checked what time it was on New Vulcan, then pressed ‘call’. His hailing was accepted, and there was a crackle of static before a familiar face formed on the screen.  
  
‘Hey!’  
  
‘Jim,’ Selek replied warmly, the light of what must be a sunrise casting shadows on the far side of the screen. The old man opened his mouth to speak further, but then his eyebrows knitted together, and with no hint of uncertainty, continued, ‘You are unwell.’  
  
‘How did you know?’ Jim whined, pouting at his apparent omniscience.   
  
‘You are pale,’ Selek said primly. ‘Tell me what has occurred.’  
  
‘I don’t know, I’ve just been sick. I had kind of a crazy nosebleed this morning, but Bones fixed me up, and Spock helped too. My Spock.’  
  
That gained him a quirk of lips. He was pretty sure Selek had known all along about his feelings for Spock, or at least, he had guessed.   
  
‘You knew,’ he said softly.  
  
‘I did not know that you were ill, Jim.’  
  
‘No, don’t bullshit,’ Jim warned, pushing a tickling piece of hair back from his face. ‘He doesn’t want me back, you know.’  
  
All at once, Selek’s face changed, his eyes softening and lips parting.  
  
‘I very much doubt that.’   
  
Jim knew his own expression was tight with pain. Faced with the Vulcan who had been the soulmate of his counterpart, he felt vulnerable, broken open. Much as he liked Selek, it was a kick in the teeth to be confronted with someone who had loved another version of him so ardently, when his own Spock obviously didn’t feel the same way.  
  
‘You don’t-’ he choked, swallowing against the lump in his throat. ‘You’re not him, you know. And he doesn’t love me, he doesn’t.’  
  
‘In all universes, I am, and will always be yours,’ Selek replied calmly.  
  
‘But you don’t know that! How can you know that?’  
  
He so desperately wanted it to be true. So desperately. But he had seen little evidence of Spock wanting to be anything more than his friend, and Jim wasn’t sure how many advances he would take before reporting him to the brass.  
  
‘My youthful counterpart is stubborn, as was I at that age,’ Selek insisted. ‘He will come to see reason, and I hope that you will be patient enough to wait for him.’  
  
‘I would wait for him forever,’ Jim whispered, closing his eyes. It was the truth. There was nobody else for him, not now. Contrary to his expectations, the vid call had actually made him feel worse, and he gathered himself to say goodbye.  
  
‘He will see reason, Jim.’  
  
Opening his eyes, Jim saw an expression so determined that it almost persuaded him to believe Selek’s words. His mouth twisted, and he nodded, unable to voice his thoughts.  
  
‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ he rushed out. ‘Reports and stuff.’  
  
‘Very well. Live long and prosper, Jim. Do not lose hope.’  
  
‘Peace and long life, Selek. Bye.’  
  
The call clicked off; the screen went blank. Jim didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d already lost it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To complete this chapter, I had to watch Jim’s death scene over and over and over so I could get every word and every expression memorised. It was torture. I hope you guys appreciate my dedication. Anyhoo, I hope you guys enjoy, and you can always find me at my [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)!


	12. The Blood's Run Stale

To his shame, Spock found that he could not concentrate to his usual standards on the analyses he was conducting. He had already made three careless mistakes in the past 7.23 hours, and the ensigns he was responsible for, whose trust and respect he had fought so hard to gain, were beginning to regard him in a concerned manner. Indeed, his sensitive ears had caught the tail-end of a whispered conversation between Ensign Vadim and Ensign Ferreira that speculated as to whether he was unwell. He did not blame them for such conjecture. His mind, as it was so often in recent days, was focused on his t'hy’la. The night before, he had lain by Jim much longer than he was supposed to - long after he had fallen asleep. He had passed the hours watching the rise and fall of his chest beneath the duvet, analysing the micro-expressions that flickered across his face as he slept. There were no more nightmares, and for that, he was thankful. Once he was absolutely certain that Jim was at peace, he had retreated to his own quarters for a few hours of rest, and in doing so, had experienced something remarkable. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had dreamt. He had dreamt of Jim, his bonded mate, willing and pliant and beautiful, writhing beneath him.

Upon waking amidst a damp patch of semen, he had been disturbed not only to discover his lack of control but also that his mind had created such erotic images in his sleep; Vulcans did not dream. His intention had been to contact his father, despite the early hour, but Jim’s horrific nosebleed had interrupted his plans. A microscope slide splintered in his hand as he recalled the paralytic fear that had gripped him when he had seen Jim collapsed on the bathroom floor, covered in vivid red blood. Beside him, Ensign Ruutel flinched at the sharp snap of glass, and as he had finished most of his major analyses, Spock decided to leave early.

‘You may continue analysis for as long as you wish,’ he told the staring group before him, unwilling to discuss the source of his disquiet. ‘If anything significant is discovered, contact me.’

After discarding the shattered pieces of glass in his hand, he left without further fanfare, bound for the observation deck. It was usually quiet at this time in shift rotation, and therefore an ideal location for a conversation with his father, since Jim would likely hear him in his quarters. As suspected, the deck was empty when he arrived, and he locked the doors to everything bar a medical override, sitting cross-legged near to the glass and requesting a conversation with Sarek. He was not left waiting long.

‘Spock,’ his father greeted, the unfamiliar wall of his new study visible behind him. His face was as stern as usual, but Spock no longer regarded the expression as one of displeasure.

‘Sa-mekh. Are you well?’

‘I am sufficient. And you?’

‘I am also,’ Spock replied, studying his father’s tired face. Since Mother had died, Sarek had thrown himself into rebuilding their shattered race, by way of spending almost every waking hour liaising with other ambassadors, Federation councils and aid workers. The strain was beginning to show. ‘I am calling you because I require your advice about an anomalous event. Last night, I had a dream.’

His father did not react expressively, but that was hardly strange.

‘When you were young, you had dreams on occasion,’ he replied, as unconcerned as if Spock had informed him of his midday meal choice.

‘I do not recall.’

‘You would not. You were very young, and preliminary mediation exercises seemed to put an end to them.’

Spock did not remember a child who dreamt, only one who suffered. His painful childhood, despite the knowledge of the repeated attempts of his parents to shield him from societal hostility, remained difficult to process. His silence endured. In the vacuum, Sarek’s face relaxed.

‘What did you dream of, Spock?’ he queried gently.

‘I dreamed of my Captain. Of Jim,’ Spock replied, seeing no reason to lie, though he was, of course, reluctant to discuss the particulars. Sarek’s eyebrow lifted in a movement that Spock so often imitated. If he could accurately interpret his father’s expression, Spock might have assumed that he was amused.

‘And why would you be dreaming about Captain Kirk?’

‘He is my t’hy’la,’ Spock blurted, then stiffened, appalled at his own spontaneous admission.

His father’s eyes bored into him, the reality of both light years and a screen separating them doing little to dim their formidable power. He sat frozen in fear of his response, of the possibility of rejection for yet another oddity. However, he was then pleasantly surprised.

‘Congratulations,’ Sarek replied, after a long silence. Affection seeped into his tone like sunlight through rainclouds, unexpected, and yet, not unwanted. ‘I assume that there will soon be a bond?’

The noise that Spock made in response was weak and choked out, and full of a pain that he could not adequately express in words. He wished to drop his head into his hands and weep, but it was a weakness that he was too proud to show. Instead, his eyes fixed on the visible part of the photograph of his mother behind Sarek’s head as he fought for composure, her smiling face soothing the sorry ache he was feeling. This time, his father waited patiently for him to speak, an almost undetectable crease between his eyebrows.

‘I have not told him.’

‘And why is that?’ Sarek asked, now actively frowning.

‘There are a number of reasons,’ Spock explained, voice nasal in his attempt to subdue his outward display of emotion. ‘Not least my attack on him on the Bridge – which you were there to witness.’

‘You were provoked after a deeply traumatic series of events. You cannot be blamed for such conduct.’

‘I most certainly can!’ Spock argued, his shame and misery building with each new word. ‘I attacked my t'hy’la – that is an unforgivable offence.’

‘Illogical. You attacked a man whom you did not know to be your t'hy’la after being taunted into doing so. He wished for that particular response did he not?’

‘Yes, but-’

‘I am aware that he was acting on the recommendations of Ambassador Selek,’ Sarek interrupted, ‘which may very well be a factor in your misguided self-flagellation, but has he not forgiven you?’

Spock remained silent, resentful that his carefully constructed arguments of guilt were being deconstructed with ease.

‘I assume that your lack of response means that he has.’

‘I am not worthy,’ Spock murmured, clenching the fist that was not holding the padd.

‘You are wrong,’ Sarek said gently. ‘My son is a worthy partner for anyone.’

Spock felt a warmth inside that was nothing to do with the temperature of the observation deck. It was rare that his father made any declarations of affection, and the fact that he had without prompting was gratifying, to say the least.

‘You love him.’

Spock swallowed, his unseen hand clenching the gridded floor beneath him.

‘How do you know that?’ he asked in wavering monotone.

His father did not smile, but after a long pause, his face softened, and one corner of his lips quirked upwards ever so slightly.

‘You are t’hy’lara,’ he reiterated. ‘You were born to love him, and in turn, he was born to love you. Your mother used to say that t’hy’la was another word for soulmate.’

The mention of his mother did not sting Spock as much as it once would have done. His father, still grieving, mentioned her so little that Spock was greedy for any detail, any story that Sarek could tell him.

Nervously, he dared to inquire, ‘Were you and Mother..?’

‘We were not t’hy’lara, but we were, perhaps, ‘soulmates’,’ his father allowed. ‘It is a very special bond, gifted to few. Do not abuse such a privilege, Spock.’

Again, he was surveyed, and he found himself nodding frantically.

‘I will tell him after he recovers. I-I do not wish to strain his health if he does not reciprocate my affections.’

‘Spock, as I have said, he was _born_ to love you,’ Sarek insisted, exasperation leaking into his voice. Then he seemed to register the other part of his response. He blinked. ‘He is unwell?’

‘Yes. Doctor McCoy says that his symptoms are similar to those of radiation poisoning,’ Spock answered quietly.

‘That is serious then. Is this a delayed reaction to the radiation of the warp core?’

‘It cannot be,’ Spock replied defensively, as if the same worry had not crept into his own heart. ‘It has been too long.’

‘Very well. You believe he will recover soon then.’

‘I… hope,’ Spock murmured. ‘Yes, I hope.’

‘As do I,’ his father said gravely.

As Sarek prepared to speak further, Spock took note of the time, and realised that he had exactly 6.84 minutes to arrive at the time he had arranged.

‘I am sorry, Sa-mekh,’ he interrupted, just as the elder had opened his mouth, ‘but I am afraid that I must go. I have an appointment to keep.’

If Spock didn’t know better, he would have thought that Sarek was disappointed.

‘I understand. I expect that I shall receive a call soon updating me on the nature of your bond. Do not let this opportunity slip away, Spock.’

‘I will not,’ Spock promised. ‘Live long and prosper, Father.’

‘Peace and long life, Spock.’

The call ended as abruptly as it had begun. Spock did not have time to reflect on the conversation, late as he was. Tucking the padd under one arm, he speed walked to the nearest turbolift, silently acknowledging its other inhabitant, Nurse Chapel, with a nod. She smiled, and it seemed that she was about to speak when the doors opened, and Spock stepped out, leaving her behind. Perhaps it was cruel, but he was glad that the journey had been so short. Her advances, timid and inoffensive as they were, were not welcome. He arrived at his quarters with only 0.05 minutes to spare, and immediately passed through to Jim’s, expecting him to be waiting. In a sense, he was wrong. Barrelling into the room with an apology on his lips, he was met with the sight of Jim sleeping, lying sideways across the bed on top of his sheets, padd and papers strewn around him. Spock allowed himself a tiny smile as he approached his curled up t'hy’la, whose breath whistled through his teeth, the shrill sound dampened slightly by the fact that his face was half-pressed into the bed. Reluctant to wake Jim, he began to collect the items that were abandoned around him, noticing with pride that he had completed every task he needed to before resting. When that was done, however, he could not help but brush a finger against Jim’s soft, warm cheek, tracing his cheekbone, then his jawline.

‘Mmm, Spock,’ Jim murmured, eyelids beginning to flutter. ‘Spock?’

Caught out, Spock moved quickly backwards, before he responded, ‘Yes, Jim, it is me.’

‘Fuck, what time is it?’ Jim asked hoarsely, beginning to sit up, and wiping the moisture trail away from his mouth.

‘It is 1918 hours. How are you feeling?’

‘Better. I went to Bones at about four and he was pissed that he couldn’t find anything wrong,’ Jim laughed, coming to stand. Spock held an arm out just in case, but he seemed to be much more stable than he had been that morning. Apparently also noticing his improvement, Jim rocked from heel to toe and back again, and grinned. ‘Had fun with your analysing?’

‘I did what I needed to do,’ Spock replied, deciding not to mention that his attention had been elsewhere. His father’s words began to prey on his mind, but he was still unconvinced that he was worthy of such a bright beauty. Besides, the bloodied pillowcase he spied still partially hanging from the disposal chute was a stark reminder that Jim was not well enough for such pressure to be forced upon him. In one swift movement, he flicked the exposed corner into the chute.

‘Yeah, of course you did.’

The words had a humoured tinge to them, and were followed by an impish smile, which made Spock’s stomach fizz.

‘Want to eat? Bet you haven’t eaten today, have you?’

‘I have not,’ Spock admitted, appropriately shamefaced in response to Jim’s disapproving look. ‘I had forgotten.’

‘How do you forget about food?’ Jim wondered as he dropped into a chair by his desk, gesturing Spock into the other. The words had a more significant meaning than the tone they were spoken in suggested. He wanted to apologise, but realised that Jim wouldn’t know that he was aware of his presence on Tarsus IV, and thus, doing so would likely result in more ill than good. Not knowing what to say, he sat where he was bid, keying his meal choice into the replicator.

‘What would you like for dinner?’ he asked.

‘Ummm, stir fry?’

Glad that Jim was at least requesting something containing vegetables, Spock placed his choice in front of him before collecting his own pasta salad. Both ate ravenously, and he suspected that Jim had eaten little for lunch, despite his earlier statements.

‘I, uh, I heard on the grapevine that Scotty and Nyota are together now,’ Jim remarked, twisting his noodles round a fork with clumsy inefficiency. His declaration was hardly a surprise to Spock, who had to fight the urge to spoon-feed him.

‘I became aware this morning,’ Spock confessed quietly, after swallowing a mouthful of fusilli, ‘but I had suspected that they were becoming amorous.’

‘So, how do you feel about that?’

Jim’s eyes darted across his face, his fork stabbing at nothing on his plate. Spock’s answer was evidently important to him.

‘It is good that she has found happiness in a relationship,’ he replied, careful in his word choice.

‘So- so you aren’t upset?’

‘I am not. Jim, as I have told you, I am not sexually attracted to her. She is my friend.’

He wondered if it was concern for him, or jealousy, or both, that elicited these questions. Whatever the reasons, Jim seemed to breathe easier after his answer, quick, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, before they formed a gentle smile.

‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ he said softly, before his tone became more enthusiastic. ‘She did seem to be mentioning him a lot.’

‘Yes. They are both passionate people with similar tastes. I am not surprised that they have become partners. Lieutenant Commander Scott is able to fulfil her emotional needs in a way that I could not.’

‘You’re not incapable,’ Jim argued, placing his fork down. Sharp, iridescent eyes focused intently on his. ‘You just weren’t the right fit together, that’s all.’

Spock got the impression that they were not talking about his relationship with Nyota anymore. He held Jim’s piercing gaze for a moment longer, before dropping his eyes under the weight of it, exhaling a little more loudly than usual.

‘Jim, I am a Vulcan-’

‘No!’ Jim barked, then lowered his tone in apparent self-admonishment. ‘No. You’re half human, Spock, and even Vulcans have emotions. I know it was difficult when you were young to accept that side of yourself-’

‘I do not wish to speak of this,’ Spock said tightly.

‘I’m not talking about any of that, but you shouldn’t feel like you’re inadequate, ever!’ Jim insisted, as if he hadn’t even spoken. ‘And you should be able to act however you want to behind closed doors, even if-’

‘Jim, please,’ he begged. He did not wish to discuss it. Not this. Not now, especially when the conversation seemed to be moving into dangerous territory. Jim’s face grew sullen.

‘Fine. Whatever.’

His face closed off in an atypical manner, which Spock found unacceptable. Although he was unwilling to discuss the matter further, his discomfort was overridden by the fact that he could not bear for Jim to be cross with him.

‘As a child, I was forced into a certain mould,’ he muttered, gaze averted. ‘In spite of my mixed heritage, my parents considered it safer for me to suppress my human half in order to fit in with my peers. You are already aware that that was not an option. I had to work twice as hard as the rest to suppress my emotions, twice as hard to keep control when provoked. It is a habit I would not be so easily cured of, even if it were safe for me to rid myself of my shields.’

‘What do you mean ‘safe’?’ Jim asked quietly, all surliness replaced by sympathetic wonder.

‘What do you know of pre-Surakian Vulcan culture?’

‘Er… very little?’

‘We were once a warrior race,’ Spock explained. ‘Like humans, only more violent, and slaves to our emotions. We felt them so strongly that they were tearing us apart, clan by clan. Surak, our most respected philosopher, saw the orgies of violence and their terrible consequences, and suggested a new Way. And this new Way is still in practice today, in our meditation and controls. In truth, the strength of our emotions has never diminished; we have merely found ways to keep them contained.’

Jim’s mouth was hanging open when he finished, eyes wide.

‘I knew you guys _had_ emotion, but I didn’t know all that,’ he breathed.

‘You understand the importance of retaining my composure now?’

‘Yeah, in general, but-’ he trailed off for a moment, his head tipping to the side. His teeth caught his lower lip for a second, letting it slip from their grasp in an erotic motion that had Spock staring at the darkened pink skin. ‘What about love?’

Spock’s heart clenched.

‘What about it?’ he whispered, stomach fluttering with nervousness.

Jim’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips once more, and his eyes followed it keenly.

‘Well, surely that much love being focused on someone can’t be a bad thing. Not… not if you find someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.’

_Oh, Jim. I have already found him._

The heartfelt innocence of his words made Spock’s blood sing, the unfulfilled t'hy’la bond pulsing in his head.

‘It is acceptable for bondmates to display a certain amount of affection to one another,’ he said hurriedly, just as the silence became unbearable. ‘Families too.’

‘And how do bondmates show affection to one another?’ Jim asked huskily, eyes half-lidded.

The question stole away Spock’s breath. He wanted to take Jim into his arms and kiss him until his lips were swollen and red, fingers sliding against his again and again, setting sensitive nerve endings on fire. He wanted to show him. Sat on the very edge of his chair, hands anchored against the seat, he willed himself not to ruin everything by acting too soon. His eyes flicked down and away.

‘I should assume that it is in a similar manner to humans.’

He dared not look to Jim now, for he knew that it would be his undoing. The food he had eaten lay heavy in his stomach.

‘Yeah, probably,’ Jim said dully, his disappointment palpable. ‘We’ve still got about four hours until Gamma, you know.’

‘I am aware. Are there any activities you would be amenable to occupy us both with?’

He realised too late the possible sexual connotations his words might have, and the desire in Jim’s eyes showed that he had realised. Spock swallowed, hard.

‘Perhaps chess?’ he suggested, before anything was said that could not be taken back. Jim pursed his lips, but nodded nonetheless.

‘Chess is good,’ he sighed, clearing the plates before Spock could do so. ‘Do you want white or black?’

‘I believe that I led last time. It is your turn. Would you prefer to play with my set tonight?’

He now had his own set, it was true, but on special occasions, Spock would retrieve his mother’s gift for their use. Jim’s ensuing smile was blinding, and he nodded eagerly.

‘Yeah, I’d love to! Want me to get it?’

He waved his approval, and like an excitable child, Jim went dashing off on coltish legs through the bathroom. Spock waited for a crash, a stumble, but there came none. Contrary to his previous careless speed, he returned with the chess set cradled in his arms like a babe, and Spock loved him for it, his heart throbbing in his side. He placed it on the desk gently, beginning to put the pieces into place, and when Spock tried to help, their fingers brushed, sending shivers down his spine.

‘Alright there?’ Jim frowned, as he snatched his hand back.

He nodded tightly in response, letting a corner of his mouth twitch upwards in reassurance as he kept to his own side of the board. Jim didn’t seem so convinced. Once the pieces were assembled, Spock leant forward on his forearms against the table and waited for his first move. The game, as per usual, started with the typical movements of pawns and knights and castles, but then, also as per usual, Jim began behaving erratically. All of Spock’s algorithmic predictions proved useless in the wake of such illogic, and he found himself straying from the rigid play-by-play procedures he had long since memorised, in the vain attempt to regain the early lead he had lost. However, it was no use. As on 49.375 per cent of occasions, he was checkmated by Jim, who sat back in his chair and ran his tongue along his lower lip.

‘Rematch?’ he smirked, fiddling with Spock’s captured King. Spock watched as blunt fingers slipped over the lines and curves of the piece, and imagined them on his body.

‘What is your strategy?’ he found himself demanding, at a loss. ‘How do you win with such unpredictable moves?’

‘Well, it’s pretty hard for you to predict what I’m doing when I don’t really know myself isn’t it?’

Spock’s forehead creased in something akin to a scowl. ‘Explain.’

‘My strategy, Spock, is that I don’t have a strategy,’ Jim laughed, relaxed and open in a way that was completely opposite to his own demeanour. ‘I rely on gut instinct. Horribly illogical.’

It was difficult for Spock to process – that instinct could win over meticulous planning – but then again, Jim had already proven that a number of times over, hadn’t he? Staring for a little too long, at the long, golden eyelashes that brushed steadily pinking cheeks with each blink, at startlingly bright blue eyes, Spock accepted his fate.

‘I would like a rematch.’

‘Damn right you would.’

Three hours and twenty six minutes later, they emerged from their game haze when a tinny alarm began wailing.

Sheepishly, Jim leant over and tapped the screen of his padd, explaining, ‘I’m not used to going on Gamma, so when I do, I always set an alarm to make sure I don’t miss it.’

‘That is sensible,’ Spock nodded. ‘Yet 16.7 minutes still remain.’

‘Yeah. Do you reckon I can trounce you in five?’

The self-satisfied smirk on his face melted into abject horror as Spock made a move, and delicately plucked his queen from the board. Though he attempted a paired attack with his remaining bishop and knight, his king was soon trapped.

‘Checkmate,’ Spock deadpanned, bearing Jim’s ensuing scowl with a raised eyebrow.

‘How did you-?’ he spluttered, ‘I had you!’

‘Perhaps, Captain, you should spend less time extolling your own virtues, and more concentrating on the game,’ Spock said smugly, flicking a piece of lint from his uniform sleeve. Jim huffed a breath out of his nose, but the twisted almost-grimace that came with it seemed forced, and Spock realised why as he stood.

‘You are in pain,’ he suggested, his suspicions confirmed as Jim’s left eye narrowed, and his hand came up to press against his temple. Standing, Spock retrieved the green hypospray from where it had been left that morning.

‘It’s just come on now,’ Jim grimaced, barely wincing as the hypospray was deployed into his neck. ‘Ah, jeez.’

Under Spock’s watchful gaze, his grimace slowly weakened, forehead smoothing out, and tense muscles visibly relaxed, shifting underneath his Command Golds.

‘Thanks,’ he rasped, running a hand through his hair.

‘There is no need for thanks. Perhaps we should make our way to the Bridge?’

Jim nodded, clearing away the chess set in record time, while Spock pocketed the rest of the hyposprays, mindful of the possibility of another such attack on the Bridge. Once done, Jim ushered him forwards with both hands, out into the corridor.

‘I’m actually glad to be on shift,’ Jim admitted softly, as they waited for the turbolift. ‘It takes my mind off… stuff.’

‘Is it your health that troubles you?’ Spock asked.

Jim shrugged. The doors opened and he waited until they were situated inside to speak.

‘Among other things.’

Spock’s mouth opened to ask him what those ‘other things’ were, but quickly fell shut again as he realised that Jim’s displeasure may very well be due to the stagnation in their relationship. In lieu of the words he could not yet say, he reached for his arm and squeezed, gentle and reassuring.

‘We must first concentrate on curing your illness. Once you are well, any other problems may well be solved.’

Jim gave him a tremulous smile, leaning into him as the lift stopped. But when the doors opened, it was business as usual. They went their separate ways: Spock, to his usual station, relieving his Andorian stand-in, and Jim, to take his rightful place in the Chair. The other crewmembers on Gamma shift trickled in in due course, and Spock was pleasantly surprised to see Nyota slip through the doors with a minute to spare.

‘I’m covering for Xarvi,’ she elucidated, responding to his questioning glance. ‘She’s got that awful ’flu, poor thing. Christine seems to think it’s tailing off now though.’

Spock nodded, taking in this new information with inward gratification. If the influenza was becoming less of an issue, then Doctor McCoy would have more time to concentrate on treating Jim’s ongoing malady. With that thought in mind, he glanced surreptitiously at his t'hy’la, who was signing a yeoman’s padd with a flourish, before turning back to his sensor screen. There was work to be done, as always.

Two hours and twelve minutes later, the light on Spock’s padd flashed with a notification. Disentangling his mind from the collection of calculations he was working on took considerable effort, but once it was done, he read the communication with grim satisfaction.

**McCoy:** _I’ve got enough patients out of here now that I think I’m ready for Jim._

**Spock:** _Understood. Would you like me to escort him down?_

**McCoy:** _Please. He’s liable to run away like a naughty toddler._

Spock dimmed the padd, and rose from his seat to approach the Captain’s Chair. Jim was sat with both hands clutching the armrest, and rolled his back in apparent discomfort. Still, when he saw Spock approach, his ensuing bright smile illuminated his face.

‘Hey, what’s up?’

Spock leant in close to him, knowing that he would not want his private business broadcasted to the crew.

‘There is a bed free in Medbay,’ he muttered into his ear. ‘Doctor McCoy wishes you to go there now.’

Jim’s face soured.

‘Now? In the middle of shift?’

The volume of his voice did not rise above that of Spock’s, but he knew that the crew would talk, should there be any scene made. In an attempt to avoid just that, he lowered his voice further, attempting appeasement.

‘Jim, the longer this is avoided, the longer your illness is likely to endure. Is it not better to do as Doctor McCoy wished now, so as not to worsen your condition?’

Jim grumbled, blunt nails digging into his upper arms, but seemed to reconsider his earlier belligerence.

‘Fine,’ he bit out, gaze straight ahead. ‘I’ll give you the conn.’

‘I am to escort you.’

‘What, in case I run?’ Jim snarled bitterly, eyes snapping back to his.

‘Do you deny that you have done so in the past?’ he replied, much more mildly. There came no answer but Jim’s heavy sigh, and he stood, listing a little to one side. Spock shifted his stance, ready to catch him, should he fall.

‘Sulu, you have the conn. I have an appointment to keep, unfortunately.’

The lieutenant nodded in understanding, and Jim strode off towards the turbolift, not even looking to see if Spock had followed - which, of course, he had. Jim seemed determined to keep his silence even as the doors closed, jaw clenched and muscles tight, angled away from him. In the tight confines of the lift, Spock could hear his laboured breathing.

‘Jim,’ he said softly. ‘Are you angry with me?’

‘What do you think?’ came the rapid, spat reply. Then he seemed to reconsider, his tone gentling. ‘I’m not _mad_ mad. Just… you guys are starting to gang up on me a bit. If you keep taking me out mid-shift, then the crew is going to notice, and morale will take a nosedive.’

‘I understand that. However, your health will _not_ become our second priority in order to reassure the crew. They are all adults, and are capable of understanding if you need to be indisposed.’

Jim did not answer. As he was still turned away, Spock assumed that it was because he was still annoyed, but then his breathing pattern changed. He heard Jim begin to take in great gulps of air, and the part of his face that he could see had faded milky white.

‘Jim,’ he demanded, pulling on his arm to turn him just as his other hand came up to his nose. When he was facing Spock fully, that hand dropped away, revealing a rapidly thickening stream of blood trickling from nostril to lips. The doors opened on the correct floor, but Spock was too busy concentrating on his surfacing muscle tremors, making a grab for him. Jim’s eyes widened with terror, then rolled backwards in his skull as he collapsed, twitching, into Spock’s arms.

‘Jim!’

Spock fumbled for his communicator, then abandoned it in favour of shouting down the hall to Doctor M’Benga, who had just emerged at the end of the corridor. He didn’t need to look to see that he had come running, shouting into his communicator all the way. Jim shuddered where he was cradled, then retched, and vomit spattered across the floor, slipping sluggishly down Spock’s arm.

‘What happened?’ M’Benga asked, as he arrived, breathless, yet calm. His fingers tipped Jim’s face up, and a fresh wave of vomit sprayed over them both.

‘He collapsed in the lift,’ Spock replied urgently. ‘Beyond that I do not know.’

‘Can you carry him?’

He did not hesitate. Lifting Jim’s limp, ragdoll form completely from the floor, he followed Doctor M’Benga, who was already dashing down the corridor.

‘Hurry!’

Spock ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell, I'm tired. I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter - I certainly enjoyed writing it! I have a very, very, very busy life at the moment, but I'm still sort of aiming for the two week mark for every new update, give or take a few days. If you did enjoy it, maybe come and say hi at my [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)? 
> 
> Oh, and by the way, if anyone wants to know what sort of length the fic is going to be, I'm 99.9% sure that it will have 20 chapters in total. Have a nice day/evening/night everyone :)


	13. In My Need, You Have Always Been There

‘We have _got_ to stop meeting like this.’

As Jim’s eyes opened into slits, he was glad that there was a figure blocking the horrendously bright lights.

‘Bones, you’ve got a halo,’ he sniggered, feeling weak as a kitten. Then he noticed the hypospray moving towards him. ‘Woah, woah woah, go away, Angel of Death!’

Despite his feeble protests, leaden, rubbery arms flailing in his vague direction, Bones still administered whatever hellish concoction he’d brewed up this time, surprisingly gentle when compared to the norm. Lucidity returned to Jim in a rush of air, like breaking the surface of water, leaving him gasping. The lights dimmed above his head, and he let his eyes open from their defensive slits, catching Bones’ own.

‘Hey.’

Bones gave him a thin-lipped smile.

‘You scared us, kid,’ he admitted, pressing a lever so that Jim could sit up.

‘Yeah, I scared myself. How long’s it been?’

‘A few hours. Spock wanted to stay of course, but there was no point watching you lying unconscious when he’s on-shift,’ Bones told him.

Jim wished that Spock was there with him now, to halt the icy tendrils of fear that were winding their way inside him. But he knew that duty overrode everything, especially when he was incapacitated.

‘Is he okay?’

‘Who, Spock?’ Bones frowned, running a tricorder over his face and chest. ‘He was a bit shaken up- scratch that. He was a lot shaken up, enough for it to be clear to us all, anyway.’

Jim’s heart clenched.

‘I must have really frightened him,’ he whispered.

‘Yeah, but he’ll be alright. It’s _you_ we’re worried about.’

In an uncharacteristic display of weariness, Bones slumped into the chair by his bed. He was in his own private room - he realised that now – but the window into the corridor was uncovered, and medical staff glanced in every so often as they passed, faces tight in concern.

‘What’s happening to me?’ he asked nervously, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer. Bones shifted in his seat, mouth open. Jim waited, each new second ramping up his thundering heartbeat. The machine beside him began to beep faster, and that seemed to shock Bones out of his reverie.

‘Calm down,’ he muttered. ‘It’s no use getting your blood pressure up. Okay, here’s what we know. Like I told you before, you’ve got symptoms that are similar to those of someone with radiation poisoning. Funnily enough, I know how to treat radiation poisoning, which is why I’ve been giving you those tablets, and I’ve also got you medicated intravenously.’

He tapped the metal pole beside him with his index fingernail, making the metal sing.

‘Now, usually, even if the medication didn’t begin to cure the symptoms in such a short time, they would prevent them from worsening. With you, they’ve escalated.’

‘So… is something else going on then?’ Jim breathed, watching with dread as Bones pinched the bridge of his nose, before bringing his tired gaze back to him.

‘What I suspect is that we haven’t got you away from the source yet,’ Bones said quietly. ‘And seeing as none of the rest of us are showing symptoms, I would suspect that that source is within you.’

Stunned, Jim twisted further towards him, hands curling tight around the thin, cold bar beside him.

‘B-but how? It’s been a year since I was in the radiation chamber.’

‘I don’t know, Jim,’ Bones admitted, lifting his hands in a shrugging gesture, then letting them fall to his knees with a soft thud. ‘We’re playing at guessing games here, and I don’t like doing that. Maybe when you’ve lost blood, your own cells have replicated to replace Khan’s. Maybe Khan’s blood has lost whatever the fuck it had that protected you. I just don’t know at the moment.’

Jim wasn’t used to living in fear of his own mortality. Whenever it had been threatened before, there had been a higher purpose that prevented him from letting it overwhelm him – Sam, the kids on Tarsus IV, his crew. The pumping adrenaline and the knowledge that he was responsible for others had always replaced the terror that should have rightfully been there. It had kept him going through the darkest of days. Now, however, there was no one to save but himself, and fear began to invade. It crawled into his throat and seeped into his stomach and enveloped his fluttering heart, and he wished, wished, _wished_ that Spock was there.

‘What do we do now?’ he asked, his voice deceptively level.

‘I’m running more tests on the blood that I took from you to make sure that I’m right. If I am, I think we’ll try you on a transfusion.’

‘And that will fix things?’

He knew he sounded like a child, and hated it.

‘I hope so,’ Bones sighed. There were dark rings under his eyes, deeper and more blue-black that usual, and Jim remembered with a guilty jolt that he’d already seen him in Medbay once today.

‘You were on Beta,’ he accused, poking lightly at his lowered forehead. ‘What’re you doing pulling double shifts?’

‘I’m damned if I’m gonna let my best friend be treated by anyone but me,’ Bones snarled, and Jim smiled despite himself. Taking advantage of his sleep-deprived state, he combed his fingers through Bones’ hair, and narrowly avoided a slap to the hand.

‘Oh no, no, no, you leave that for Bowlcut Elrond. I don’t know where those hands have been, and I don’t want to know.’

His face was growing steadily darker with the beginnings of angry red, and Jim’s little smile began to widen. He loved annoying Bones; it was his favourite pastime.

‘Love you, Bonesy,’ he cooed, prodding his cheek, and snickering as the irritated flush spread to his neck.

‘Yeah, yeah, shut up,’ Bones growled, jerking backwards from the offending finger. ‘I’ve still got quite a few ‘flu patients to see, so you’re going to have to suck it up for now. I’ll come and check on you when I can, and you know what to do if anything happens, yeah?’

Jim pointed wordlessly to the call button beside his bed, and was rewarded with a lightning-fast ruffle of his hair.

‘Spock’s gonna come down straight after shift, which ends in about-’ he checked his padd, ‘-an hour. Try and get some sleep, okay? We’ve got everything being monitored, so you don’t need to worry.’

‘Yes, alright, mother hen,’ Jim grinned. ‘Go on. And get some sleep at some point, would you?’

Bones let out a noncommittal grunt.

‘I’ll see what I can do. Try and sleep yourself.’

He left with a brief wave that Jim returned, watching as the doors slid shut behind the retreating figure of his best friend. Left alone, he quickly sobered. The forced smile slipped from his face, and he let his head fall back on the pillow, breathing a long, slow pull of air in through his nose. He closed his eyes, fumbling blindly for the cold sheet to drag up over himself.

‘Computer, lights to 0%,’ he called. His request was obeyed, and the room plunged into absolute darkness.

_No, no, no!_

‘Computer, lights to 20%,’ he garbled, the panic that had gripped him disappearing with the emergence of light. What a fucking baby. Couldn’t even sleep with the lights off. But it had reminded him of his tunnelling vision in the radiation chamber, and that wasn’t something he was often pleased to relive. Shivering with fear, he yanked the sheet up around his chin and shut his eyes tight, taking comfort in the fact that he could still just about see the room if he opened them. Sleep came slowly. He drifted for a long while, kept awake by his own fright and the threat of death that he now knew was flowing through his veins. After an indeterminate amount of time, he faintly heard the doors slide open, and he blinked awake, coming face to face with the ghost-like figure of Spock, who was attempting to sneak into the chair by the bed. His relief was enormous.

‘Hey,’ he smiled, sure that the butterflies in his stomach weren’t due to his illness this time.

‘You should be sleeping,’ Spock chided gently as he sat, though the corners of his lips twitched. His hand descended to pass over Jim’s hair, who arched into it like a cat. ‘How are you?’

‘I feel fine.’

It was almost honest. Physically, he felt a little numb, but he was sure that that was due to whatever drugs were being pumped into him right now. On impulse, he found Spock’s hand and squeezed it tight, feeling a sudden need for reassurance as the buzzing of fear at the back of his mind reared its ugly head once more. To his credit Spock allowed the contact, though he inhaled sharply at the moment their skin touched.

‘You are frightened,’ he whispered, tightening his grip. Jim could barely see his expression, but he was sure that it was concerned. To reassure him, he squeezed the hand in his a second time.

‘Maybe just a little bit,’ he confessed, bringing the clasped hand to his face so that he could press his heated cheek against the back of it. ‘Just a teeny-tiny little bit.’

As he nuzzled into cool skin, one of Spock’s fingers moved infinitesimally against him, the knuckle sweeping back and forth across his cheekbone. Jim hummed in delight, daring to bring their hands to rest together against his chest. He wanted to ask if Spock would sleep beside him again, but he knew that their semi-public location meant he would be refused. Instead, he shifted to rest on his stomach, head turned towards Spock, and let their still-joined hands rest beside his face. Spock’s fingers were within breathing distance, his thumb bare inches away from sleep-soft lips, but he did not complain.

‘I spoke with Doctor McCoy,’ Spock murmured, the aforementioned thumb rubbing lightly across the back of Jim’s fingers.

‘And did he tell you what’s going on?’ Jim breathed. He craned his neck to try and gauge Spock’s expression, but despite the fact that the pallor of his skin and shine of his eyes and teeth were just about visible, he could not see the dark eyes that he had come to rely upon for clues of what he was feeling. The semi-darkness may have made their conversation feel more intimate, yet he was flying blind in that respect. ‘About my blood?’

‘He did.’

‘What do you think about it all?’ Jim whispered, rearranging himself and inadvertently brushing his lips against one of Spock’s fingers. He heard Spock’s breath catch, and wondered whether he was uncomfortable, but he didn’t remove his hand. For that, Jim was grateful. Having Spock beside him was a wonderful comfort, and he was greedy for it.

‘I… I have faith in the medical team. I believe that you will soon be recovered.’

It sounded awkward, stilted, and Jim wondered whether he was being truthful, or just trying to reassure him. He was thankful nonetheless. In lieu of a verbal reply, he squeezed Spock’s hand again, and closed his heavy eyelids. The rest of the ship was waking around them, faint noises permeating through thick walls, but in their dark, warm cocoon, you wouldn’t know it.

‘Sleep now, Jim,’ Spock said tenderly, his voice as emotive as Jim had ever heard it.

‘You sleep too,’ he slurred, impatiently pushing his tickling hair off his forehead. A moment later, Spock repeated the motion for him. ‘You need sleep.’

‘I will meditate first. It is not an ideal location, but it is necessary.’

‘Mmm…’

Jim wasn’t really listening, feeling as warm and safe and sleepy as he was. As he began to drift off, hand still clasped with Spock’s, he thought he felt gentle fingers ghost across his hair, then his temple, and then he was gone.

On waking for the second time that day, he heard hushed voices nearby, and discerned that Spock was speaking from that stomach-twisting tone alone. But there was another voice, a female voice, and as Jim forced heavy eyelids open, he realised that it was Nyota. They didn’t seem to have noticed him wake, close together and whispering as they were, and Jim felt a sudden tug of irrational jealousy at their proximity. Then Nyota’s eye caught his. She smiled widely, and that jealousy turned to shame.

‘Hey, how’re you feeling?’

‘Um.’ He hadn’t really considered that yet, but there was a pleasant numbness working its way through him, covering the odd discomfort that lay beneath. ‘Fine, I guess. Yeah. Fine.’

Behind her, Spock raised an eyebrow, and his eyes spoke of exasperation, even if it was more fond than anything else. Nyota was a little more direct.

‘Bullshit,’ she declared, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Tell me the truth.’

Her gaze was fierce, and Jim caved to it in seconds.

‘I guess I just feel a bit weird. I don’t know. I might be imagining it. I’m not in pain or anything though, which is a pleasant change.’

‘And what does ‘weird’ entail?’ Spock jumped in, stepping forwards next to Nyota. That made Jim nervous, though he wasn’t sure why.

‘I don’t know; I can’t explain it. Just… off,’ he shrugged, and when that didn’t seem to appease his First, continued, ‘I’m not trying to be difficult, alright? Whatever’s in this IV is doing a pretty good job, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling strange.’

That answer was more readily accepted, or at least, it seemed to be. The terrible twosome relaxed from their tag-team effort to break him anyway.

‘Maybe strange is good,’ Nyota smiled, but there was still a worried crease in her forehead.

‘Yeah, well, I hope so. What time is it?’

‘It is thirteen minutes to four, Captain,’ Spock offered, eyes flashing as Jim attempted to struggle upright. He darted forwards, hand out. ‘You must lie back down.’

He was unceremoniously pushed back down to the bed, yielding, weak-limbed, to his superior strength.

‘But I’m on shift!’ he protested, though he lay pliant under the delicious pressure of Spock’s restraining hand.

‘No, you are not. Your shifts will be covered for the immediate future while you rest.’

‘But what will the crew think?’ he whined, pushing up a little against his confines. ‘I can’t just stay in here and-’

Spock interrupted, ‘I believe we had this conversation yesterday, James.’

His hand was like iron against Jim’s chest. Jim let out a growl of frustration, but lay back again, meeting Spock’s blazing eyes in surrender.

‘Fine.’

A muscle near Spock’s outer eye twitched – perhaps due to his bitter tone. Jim felt at once guilty and mutinous, not wanting to cause him any grief, but also unwilling to shirk his duties.

‘I, however, must go to the Bridge,’ Spock said monotonously, lifting his hand away. Jim started at the unfamiliar tone, then again when he realised it _was_ unfamiliar. Behind Spock, Nyota smirked at Jim’s bewilderment. He wanted to throw his pillow at her, but decided it probably wasn’t in his best interests. Of course Spock had to go to the Bridge – it was his shift too – but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Left alone, he was sure that the fear would creep in once more. He nodded, lips twisted unhappily. Spock’s eyes surveyed the entirety of him, and he got the feeling that Spock didn’t much like it either.

‘Can I at least have a padd?’ he tried, reaching pathetically for the one in Nyota’s hand. She looked, of course, to Spock, who instead handed Jim the one that was tucked under his arm.

‘You may use mine. Do _not_ overtax yourself, or further privileges will be taken away.’

‘Oh, come on!’ Jim laughed, dropping it into his lap. ‘A padd is hardly going to kill me.’

_Whoops._ Spock froze for a moment, and Jim’s smile evaporated. He opened his mouth to apologise, but Spock got there first.

‘I must go, Captain. If you will excuse me.’

He swept from the room in a matter of heartbeats, leaving Nyota staring at Jim with pity in her eyes. Jim let out a strangled noise and dropped his head into his hands.

‘Jesus Christ, why can’t I keep my fucking mouth shut?’ he moaned.

‘He’ll get over it,’ Nyota replied, her voice much closer than it had been before. When he looked up, she was right beside the bed, and she smoothed his ruffled hair back. ‘You know he’s… sensitive about all that.’

‘More than me,’ Jim agreed.

‘Yeah, but he watched you go, and it was pretty damn horrible. I’ve never seen him like that, Jim. The way he screamed Khan’s name…’ she shivered, folding her arms again. ‘I don’t know if he’ll ever be over it. He’s certainly more protective of you now – that much is clear.’

‘Mmm, I like that part.’

His mind wandered, a dreamy smile forming on his face as he considered the myriad of ways in which that protectiveness could manifest itself. A swat to the back of his head brought him back to cold, hard reality.

‘Stop thinking about that sort of stuff when I’m in the room,’ Nyota scolded. ‘And what’s going on with you anyway? No one’s giving me a straight answer when I ask.’

‘That’s because there is no straight answer,’ Jim admitted, running his fingers along the edge of the padd and back again.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I’m apparently showing the symptoms of radiation poisoning, but the normal stuff to fix that isn’t working,’ Jim murmured, his fingers moving faster now in frantic rhythm in an attempt to calm his rising nerves. ‘So they’re gonna try a transfusion I think.’

Nyota’s hand came up to cover her mouth. Jim looked away, his stomach dropping.

‘Well, I’m sure that’ll work,’ she said eventually, voice shaking. Jim didn’t believe her, doubted she even believed it herself. He nodded nonetheless, dry mouth and aching throat taking the words he might have spoken. His fingers tapped out one last agitated series of staccato beats against the padd before clenching it tightly in both hands.

‘Yeah.’

‘Do you want some company?’ Nyota offered, easing into the chair by the bed. ‘I could teach you some more Andorian if you like?’

‘Please,’ he blurted, giving her a grateful smile. She flicked on her own padd, beginning with a horribly difficult reflexive tense, and in the grip of grammar and syntax and horrendous pronunciation, for a few hours, Jim forgot.

Some time later – though Jim wouldn’t have known exactly how long if you had asked him – there was a sharp rap on the door. He barely got out a ‘Come in!’ before the doors were open and Bones came striding in, looking slightly less haggard than before, but no less grim.

‘Good afternoon, sunshine!’ Jim called out, arms splaying wide, and one nearly hitting Nyota but for a spare few inches. ‘Whoops, sorry, Ny.’

Her face screwed up in apparent dislike.

‘What? What other nicknames have you got? Ny, Nya, N-’

‘Nyota will do just fine,’ she sniffed, gathering her padd into her arms. ‘You need to work on your prepositions, but your major tenses are coming along pretty well. I’ll leave you guys to it.’

She stood, throwing a casual ‘see you later!’ over her shoulder as she left the room. As the doors closed behind her, Jim let his stupidly wide grin disappear. For all his joking bravado, he was shit scared, the cold fear swirling in his stomach exacerbated by the worry lines set deep in Bones’ forehead.

‘Talk to me,’ he begged, swallowing against the hitch that threatened to arise. ‘What’s going on?’

Bones parted his lips with an audible wet sound.

‘You’ve got widespread cell death in your blood. Your lymphocyte count, especially, is dangerously low. It’s as if you’ve just been exposed to a radiation source.’

Jim didn’t understand. Sure, he’d heard of blood cells and lymphocytes, but what he didn’t understand was why all this was happening now.

‘So… what?’ he blustered, staring helplessly up at Bones, who shook his head, hand rubbing across his stubbly cheek.

‘I’m going to give you that exchange transfusion and see if it helps,’ he sighed, reaching forward to flick between screens on the monitor by the bed. ‘Normally I’d give you irradiated blood to prevent graft-versus-host, but I’m not sure how much more you can take, long half-life or not.’

‘When?’

‘Now, if you don’t mind. The quicker we try and nip this in the bud, the better.’

‘‘ _Try’_ being the operative word,’ Jim muttered, feeling pessimistic.

‘That’s all we can do.’

‘So how does this go?’ he asked nervously. ‘What do you need me to do?’

‘You just need to sit there. I’m going to put a cannula in each arm, one to remove your blood, and the other to replace it with donor blood. It has to be done in cycles of a little at a time, so it’s gonna take a while, sorry, Jim.’

‘What, you’re going to replace _all_ my blood?’ Jim squeaked.

‘No. God, no,’ Bones denied incredulously, setting his arms wrist-upwards and wiping his inner elbows with a frigid alcohol wipe. At some point in his flitting about, he’d donned some gloves, the odd texture of which made Jim shudder when it came into contact with his skin. ‘I mean, I _want_ to do that, but I can only give you between two and four units in total.’

Jim stared directly ahead as the cannulas were inserted, flinching on reflex even before they went in.

‘Don’t be such a baby,’ Bones teased, with much less than his usual venom.

‘’m not,’ Jim mumbled, feeling no pain, although he could see blood flow out of one arm and into the other. Bones, apparently content with his fiddling, sat on the end of his bed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Are you gonna change the damn blood bags yourself? ‘Cause I’ve gotta do it after every cycle. You’re just going to have to put up with me for a few hours, kid.’

Jim grinned. This was great! A few hours to see how far he could push him with no fear of retaliation – or at least, no _immediate_ retaliation.

‘Hey, Bonesy.’

His tone was deliberately mischievous, and he watched Bones’ shoulders tense with barely concealed glee.

‘What?’ he growled, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

‘Isn’t Spock great?’ Jim sighed happily, lips forming a beatific smile. ‘Isn’t he amazing?’

‘I’m gonna throw up.’

‘He’s got those gorgeous deep brown eyes-’

‘Stop.’

‘-and those pretty little pointed ears, oh-’

_‘Stop.’_

‘-I just want to lick him all over-’

‘Enough!’ Bones snarled, red from above his collar to the tips of his own ears. ‘Do you know how easily I could turn you into more of a dribbling mess than you already are?’

‘Yeah, but you won’t!’ he smirked. ‘And that’s because you love me. Also because I’m in the middle of a blood transfusion.’

‘Just you wait, boy- what?’

‘Don’t call me that,’ Jim shivered, feeling the ghost of Frank’s whiskey-breath on his cheek. Bones’ eyes traced his face with dawning comprehension. He opened his mouth, presumably to apologise, but Jim shook his head to cut him off. ‘Don’t. It’s fine, alright?’

Bones’ mouth shut, and within the few beats of ensuing silence, he looked up to where the blood was collecting and stood.

‘These need changing,’ he murmured. ‘First cycle of many.’

Jim lay still as Bones messed with all the equipment, and waited for him to sit down again.

‘Want to play a game?’

Bones regarded him warily.

‘Depends what kind of game you mean,’ he frowned.

‘’Would you rather?’’ Jim chirped, ignoring his expression of horror. ‘I’ll start! Now, would you rather make out with Admiral Henning or look after a litter of baby Gorns for a day?’

‘Lord, give me strength.’

After more than a few games of ‘Would you rather?’, a massive sulk on Jim’s part when Bones nipped the last in the bud, and a reconciliation in the form of a discussion as to whether Saurian brandy was a suitable present for M’Benga’s birthday, the transfusion was finally over. Jim lay boneless as the cannulas were removed, and the holes in his skin sealed shut.

‘Please tell me that worked,’ he croaked, reaching for Spock’s padd.

‘I don’t know yet. I’m monitoring you.’

‘I feel like normal.’

‘Doesn’t mean much, I’m afraid,’ Bones said gravely, tapping the IV. ‘You’ve got a shitload of drugs in you, so I doubt you’d even know.’

Jim sighed, drawing his knees up and shuffling up the bed as he accessed his reports through the central computer.

‘So when _will_ you know?’ he grumbled.

‘I’ll take a blood sample from you tomorrow and check your lymphocyte count – then I’ll know. In the meantime though, you need to sit tight. There’s no way I’m letting you out of here with so much uncertainty.’

‘Oh, come on!’ Jim cried, scowling at him as he trashed his gloves. ‘I’ve got a ship to run!’

‘Yeah, and you can’t do that if you’re de- ill,’ Bones snapped back, covering his slip-up by turning away for a moment to mess with the collection of blood bags he had amassed.

‘Who says?’

_‘I_ **_says._** Seriously Jim, there is no argument here. The medical override exists for a reason.’

Knowing there was no use in wasting his breath, Jim threw himself back into the wall, angrily yanking his pillows out from underneath him. From there, he focused on the padd, with the intention to ignore him. It was a shame, then, that he was so bad at holding a grudge. When he sensed Bones approaching, he couldn’t help but glance at him with resentful eyes, huffing.

‘C’mon,’ Bones cajoled. ‘C’mon, Jim. You know I’m right.’

He did, and that was the worst part. If it were anyone else in that bed, Bones or Spock especially, he would have gone out of his mind if they had even suggested leaving it before they were better.

‘What do you want me to say?’ he muttered, skimming over the Engineering weekly report.

‘I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to stay safe and sound in that bed, y’hear?’

He nodded sharply in response, eyes focusing so hard on the padd that the words he was reading blurred.

‘Right. Good. I’ve got other patients to attend to now, so if you just sit tight, Beta ends in about-’ he checked his watch, ‘-two and a bit hours, and I’m sure Spock’ll turn up, seeing as you two are attached at the hip now. Any problems, you know what to do.’

Another nod. He was still, somewhat, in a huff.

‘And you’d better stop that sulking or I’ll spank you.’

‘I’d rather Spock did,’ Jim parried, an evil little grin emerging at Bones’ choked-off noise. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Hmph.’

Jim snorted as Bones left without another word, the momentary amusement unfortunately not preventing his mood from souring now that he was alone. In an attempt to distract himself from the advancing storm clouds in his mind, he threw himself into his reports, finishing them in record time. Spock would have been proud. Oh, _Spock._ Jim wanted to apologise for his thoughtless words that afternoon, and never hear that blank tone directed at him ever again. His padd told him that it was a minute from midnight, and so, work completed, he clicked the screen off and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Eventually, he checked his padd again, and on seeing that it was twenty past the hour, slumped back to the bed in disappointment. Maybe Spock wasn’t coming. He was under no obligation to, of course, it wasn’t like it was his responsibility to babysit Jim or anything, but- Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and his heart fluttered. He sat up in expectation, but then they carried on right past his room, and his excitement withered. How ridiculous, that he expected his First Officer to be with him in every second of his free time. Why would Spock want to spend every night in a hospital room when he could be sleeping in the warmth of his own quarters? He was so wrapped up in his own self-flagellation that he didn’t hear the second set of quick-approaching footsteps until they were right outside his door, and a knock startled him from his thoughts.

‘Come in,’ he called, hope rising once more. The doors had barely opened before Spock was slipping his way through, and Jim couldn’t help but let out a rapturous cry of his name, flushing immediately afterwards at his own embarrassing eagerness. Spock’s lips twitched. There was no sign of the obvious distress he had felt pre-Beta.

‘Jim, I apologise for my lateness. I was dealing with an altercation between two Ensigns.’

‘It’s alright,’ Jim said breathlessly, elated that he had turned up at all. ‘Which Ensigns?’

‘Jónsdóttir and Raja. They seemed to be in disagreement about which wrench to use, and their argument was becoming disproportionate to the issue.’

‘Ah. Did you know what wrench it was meant to be?’ Jim asked, amused.

‘I did not, and therein lay my problem. I escorted them to Lieutenant Commander Scott to settle the matter, and thus became delayed. I would have contacted you, but I did not know if you were asleep.’

Jim wanted to tell him not to worry about it, that he didn’t have to come to see him if he didn’t want to, but was frightened it would backfire, and sound like he didn’t want him there. Instead, he patted the empty space beside him on the bed, and said, ‘It’s okay, Spock. Want to sit down?’

Despite his indication, Spock first made for the chair, then hesitated. Jim shrugged.

‘Sit where you want, but I think the bed’s more comfortable.’

After a few seconds more, Spock (sensibly) chose the bed, narrow hips and legs slotting alongside Jim’s with little difficulty. Jim couldn’t help but lean into him, swaying closer in infinitesimal movements, until their hands, mirroring each other by resting on their thighs, were almost touching.

‘Good shift?’ he queried, sinful want pouring into him from the contact points between their bodies.

‘It was typical,’ Spock said simply. ‘Apart from the fact that you were not there.’

Jim grinned.

‘Missed me, didn’t you?’

Pressed together as they were, he was staring at Spock’s profile rather than the entirety of his face, but he could still see the surrender in his expression, the softened jaw, the quick flick of long eyelashes as his gaze lowered.

‘Your absence was unsettling,’ Spock admitted quietly. He cleared his throat. ‘Nevertheless, I endeavoured to carry out my duties with typical efficiency.’

‘Of course you did,’ Jim crooned, like the lovesick idiot he was.

‘We are ready to advance to the next planet in the system, if you would give your permission for us to do so.’

‘Yeah, yeah, sure, go ahead,’ Jim said hurriedly. ‘Don’t let me hold you back.’

‘I shall inform the Bridge crew tomorrow,’ Spock told him, and as he turned to face him full on, Jim noted the faint hollows beneath his eyes with concern.

‘You’re tired,’ he stated, reaching up to thumb at the dip of his eye socket. ‘We should sleep. Are you staying?’

The last was said with such hope, bursting from him with such fevered alacrity that he was doubtful that Spock would refuse. He was right.

‘I would not be averse to remaining here,’ Spock murmured. ‘That is, if you do not mind?’

‘Of course not!’ Jim blurted, all bright eyes and too-wide smile.

‘As you wish.’

Jim lowered the lights, shifting over slightly, but Spock had not moved, seeming uncertain. He realised he would have to take the lead in this.

‘I don’t suppose you brought your pyjamas?’ he asked, unsurprised when Spock shook his head. ‘Right, boots off, and whatever else you’re not going to be comfortable sleeping in.’

Spock did as he was told, removing his boots, then fingering his tunic.

‘Maybe take the undershirt off?’ Jim suggested. ‘I find it restrictive.’

Spock nodded, slipping first the tunic off, then his undershirt, before putting the tunic back on. The glimpse of strong, lean muscle and thick hair running from sternum to trouser line in the lowlight sent heat shooting through Jim, dick twitching beneath his flimsy hospital gown. Swallowing, he tried to dampen his arousal by averting his gaze, but it was only half-effective, as he couldn’t help but glance back every few seconds.

‘Better?’ he rasped, as Spock settled back on the bed.

‘Yes. Shall I return to the chair, Captain?’

‘No, no, we can share, I’m not that fat,’ Jim insisted, lying down on his side, and tugging the sheet up, holding it open. ‘Come on, lie down.’

Spock did so, turned towards him. Their faces were inches apart, and Jim swore he stopped breathing for a moment as they drew level, zoning in on wide, dark eyes.

‘Go to sleep, Spock,’ he whispered, the heat from his body a welcome comfort. For a moment, they merely stared at one another, then Spock closed his eyes. He moved once, then lay still, and within minutes, seemed to be asleep. Inexplicably exhausted though he was, Jim forced his eyes open for as long as he could, watching as Spock’s eyes moved behind their lids as he dreamt, and he shifted in his sleep, feeling the steady puff of cool air against his neck with joy. He wished this was every night – preferably with a few less clothes. Eventually, his eyelids felt too heavy to contend with, and pulling himself closer to Spock, tucking his head beneath his chin, he, for once, welcomed sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Mega tired again but I've managed to wrench this chapter out and look over it, so all's good :) Really hope you enjoy it, please tell me what you think, and feel free to check out my [Tumblr!](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)


	14. All My Windows Still Are Broken

Spock did not want to get up for Alpha shift. He woke with his nose nuzzled into Jim’s soft hair, bracketing him with his taller frame. Jim’s breath came in warm bursts against his neck. His erection - which he knew was almost certainly due to the pressure of a full bladder on his prostate - was pressed into the cradle of Jim’s hips, and when he shifted to attempt to relieve his ache, he felt Jim similarly stir against him. _That_ was why he had to get up. It would be all too easy to take advantage of a pliant, sleepy, all-too-receptive Jim, whose body was meant to be resting and healing. He could not. Shivering at the friction between them as he pulled his hips back, Spock willed his erection away, settling more comfortably when he had regained control. It was three minutes before seven, so he had a little time to remain yet. As Jim snuffled into the space beneath his jaw, one lax hand curled against his undershirt, he combed through the fine hair at the base of his neck, allowing it to slip between his fingers. The slide of tickling hair against sensitive skin sent gentle pleasant pulses through him, and he reluctantly drew his hand away, letting the back of his knuckles stroke along Jim’s rough, unshaven jaw as he did so. He straightened the sheets that had twisted their way around his t’hy’la’s restless legs, and checked the hour once more. 0705. It was time to go. With painstakingly slow movements, he began to extricate himself, first pulling gently at Jim’s tangled fingers in his shirt. There was a soft sound of discontent, but he did not wake, only curling his hand in the sheet instead. Then, Spock brought his hand up and cradled Jim’s head, easing him from his shoulder back into the pillow, expecting, yet abhorring the resulting whine of displeasure.  
  
‘Peace, Jim,’ he whispered, as he removed himself from the bed with as little disruption to his sleep as possible. Luckily, he merely burrowed deeper into the sheets and sighed, breath beginning to whistle through his teeth. Spock gave him one last indulgent look before he left for his quarters, nodding to Nurse Chapel as he passed through the front section of Medbay. When he reached the floor that his quarters were on, he met Nyota approaching, welcoming her pleasant smile with an incline of his head.  
  
‘Hey, are you alright? Have you seen Jim?’  
  
‘I did not leave last night,’ he admitted, almost inaudibly, as he was aware of the presence of other crewmen in the corridor.  
  
‘Aww, did you share the bed?’ she teased, eyebrows raising at his nod of confirmation. ‘Wow, I’m surprised you agreed to that.’  
  
Spock shifted in discomfort, heat rising in his cheeks.  
  
‘He slept soundly. I did not see any sign of sickness, but I am all too aware that that is not proof of his total health.’  
  
Nyota smiled, but her expression spoke more of sympathy than of happiness.  
  
‘I’m sure he’ll be okay. Are you coming to breakfast?’  
  
Spock shook his head.  
  
‘I must return to my quarters,’ he replied. ‘I shall see you on the Bridge.’  
  
‘Okay, bye!’  
  
By the time she had finished speaking, Spock was already halfway down the corridor, aware of how much he was pressed for time. He showered, dressed, and ate quickly, making it to the Bridge at 0754 hours, and taking the Captain’s chair. Though it was not his first time doing so, he disliked taking the role intensely, merely because it was indicative of Jim’s incapacitation. It also, as Jim had pointed out time and again, changed the behaviour of the crew. Without his easy-going, clever, compassionate leadership, crew morale declined, and efficiency decreased.  
  
‘Morning, Commander!’ Ensign Chekov chirruped as he took his place at the helm, Lieutenant Sulu following closely behind with his own greetings.  
  
‘Good morning,’ Spock answered, knowing by now that a response was necessary for humans. ‘I have spoken with the Captain, and he has agreed to allow us to move on to the next planet in the system.’  
  
Chekov nodded enthusiastically, but Sulu frowned.  
  
‘When is the Captain coming back?’  
  
‘That is, as yet, unknown,’ Spock deadpanned. ‘We will proceed with caution, with far-range scanners in place.’  
  
‘Yes, sir. At current speed, we will arrive in the orbit of the next planet in three days.’  
  
 _And by that time,_ Spock thought optimistically, _Jim may be well enough to take the helm._  
  
‘Very well. Continue on our current course, Lieutenant.’  
  
The shift dragged without Jim there to fill in the awkward silences with cheerful conversation and the occasional bout of humming, and Spock noticed that by the seventh hour, a number of crewmen had begun displaying restless behaviour. Even Nyota, professional to the last, was tapping her nails on the console as she squinted at her screen in an aimless, distracting rhythm. When he directed his attention to her, she seemed to sense his gaze, turning and giving him an apologetic smile. The tapping desisted. Spock’s unease, however, did not. At shift’s end, he was unusually eager to be relieved of his duties, and once his replacement had been briefed about their trajectory, he hurried back down to Medbay, intending to check on Jim. His path took him past Doctor McCoy’s office, and while the good doctor was sat at his desk, he did not seem to be occupied. Spock drew closer, but as he did so, McCoy placed his head in his hands.  
  
‘Doctor McCoy?’ he called quietly, coming to stand in the doorway.  
  
The doctor’s head shot up, and Spock could see moisture pooled in his eyes.  
  
‘Come in,’ he choked, waving his hand repeatedly at Spock. ‘Shut the door.’  
  
Spock obeyed, sitting in the chair that was kicked out for him.  
  
‘Are you well, doctor?’  
  
‘No.’  
  
Spock frowned. This conversation was not adhering to the usual pattern of reassurance and subject change. He was about to inquire as to the meaning of McCoy’s denial, when he began to elucidate.  
  
‘I’ve got Jim’s results back. The transfusion didn’t work.’  
  
The assertion was a metaphorical punch to Spock’s gut. He stared blankly at McCoy, who became visibly incensed.  
  
‘Do you feel _nothing_ for him?’ the doctor exploded, slamming his hands down on the desk. ‘You heartless, green-blooded, evil little elf!’  
  
‘Enough!’ Spock snarled, the rage boiling within him barely repressed in his voice. ‘You cannot comprehend what I feel for Jim, nor do you have the right to make assumptions based on your limited comprehension of Vulcan culture.’  
  
McCoy’s expression froze mid-lip curl, and he drew his hands back on the desk, looking rather like a despondent child.  
  
‘Sorry. I’m sorry, Spock. I just- I don’t know what to do.’  
  
Calmer now, and somewhat ashamed of his outburst, Spock watched him wilt with understanding of his feelings, if not of the way they were expressed.  
  
‘Would another blood transfusion not cure his symptoms?’ he asked, hope sparking within him.  
  
‘I can only transfuse between two and four units at a time, whereas Jim has about eleven in his body. I had hoped that fresh blood would counteract whatever is going on in his veins, but it hasn’t. I can’t drain him dry and start again, Spock; do you see my problem?’  
  
Spock nodded.  
  
‘What else can be done then?’ he inquired. ‘If it is his blood that is the issue, then-’  
  
McCoy interrupted, ‘Look, let me explain this in a way you’ll understand. Jim is exhibiting symptoms of radiation poisoning, and normally, I would be able to get a patient away from the source and treat them. Jim, on the other hand, is being poisoned from the inside out. It’s not only circulating through his blood, but it’s infecting him, spreading through him.’  
  
Spock’s tone was sharp, and could have been construed as accusatory as he asked, ‘You did not think of the possibility of this occurring earlier?’  
  
‘Christ, Spock,’ Doctor McCoy parried, shaking his head, though his red-rimmed eyes wouldn’t meet Spock’s, ‘I was more worried about keeping him alive at the time.’  
  
‘The lack of precision, of certainty even, is deeply concerning,’ Spock said tightly.  
  
‘Do you think I don’t know that? I’ve been a doctor for over 10 years, dealt with a whole host of weird shit, and yet I’ve never seen this before. This is new.’  
  
McCoy had been idly fidgeting with a pen throughout their conversation, and on his final, desperate word, it snapped, the ink spraying over documents, desk, and hands alike. He didn’t appear to notice. As his wide, fearful eyes focused on him, Spock reached over and delicately plucked the pieces of plastic from his hands, careful not to come into contact with blue-stained skin.  
  
‘I’m _tryin’,_ Spock,’ Doctor McCoy said empathically, ‘but it’s like patching up a dam leak with masking tape. We need a more permanent solution – something that’ll fix him rather than just keep taping over the broken bits.’  
  
Rattled, Spock nodded. His mind was already running through potentialities, as little as he knew about radiation poisoning, and its effect on the human body.  
  
‘We need to synthesise a cure.’  
  
‘Yes, we d- hey, what do you mean ‘we’?’  
  
His eyes bored into McCoy’s for a long moment, conveying his absolute sincerity.  
  
‘Although my practical medical experience is limited, I have extensive biomedical knowledge that you may need. Furthermore, I can utilise the Science department, as many of them are perfectly capable of aiding us in this venture.’  
  
‘Spock, you can’t just redirect the efforts of all of your subordinates.’  
  
‘They have little to do but repeated analysis until we come into contact with a more advanced planet,’ Spock said bleakly. ‘Besides, Jim’s health is my priority. In the event of its decline, little else matters to me.’  
  
‘Son of a bitch,’ McCoy whispered, his realisation clearing the shadow that had darkened his expression. ‘You love him. You fucker.’  
  
Spock’s first thought was to deny it, but he could no longer. He hoped that when Jim was well, he could reconcile his love with his feelings of inadequacy, and close the chasm that had opened up between them.  
  
‘I was under the impression that love was not a bad thing.’  
  
McCoy’s mouth hung open for 4.84 seconds, before a scowl settled into its familiar place in the creases of his forehead.  
  
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ he growled. ‘Even you can’t be emotionally constipated enough to not have realised that Jim’s suffering.’  
  
A lump rose in Spock’s throat, and in his guilt, he said more than he perhaps wanted to.  
  
‘I do not mean to make him suffer,’ he divulged quietly. ‘It pains me to see him so. I breached the right to claim him as mate when I attacked him on the Bridge after the destruction of Vulcan, and although my father has attempted to reassure me, I still cannot see the offence as forgivable-’  
  
‘Spock, that was forever ago! And he forgave you on the spot, I know it.’  
  
It was no less than anyone else had told him, but from McCoy, who knew Jim so well, it meant more somehow.  
  
‘I have not forgiven myself,’ he admitted weakly.  
  
‘Well you should do – you were compromised. Next reason, come on. I know you have them.’  
  
‘In the beginning, I was concerned that he would be a negative influence on my controls.’  
  
‘Well, that’s bull,’ Doctor McCoy blustered, folding his arms. ‘’Course he’s going to get under your skin if you love him, but that’s not a bad thing. So long as you two can keep it professional on the Bridge, anything else is your business.’  
  
Spock nodded hesitantly, somewhat impressed at how the doctor was demolishing his concerns one by one.  
  
‘My final concern is for Jim’s health,’ he murmured. ‘I do not wish to place stress on him in such a crucial period. If I were to approach him, it would not be for a casual relationship, and although I am aware that he cares for me, I do not know if he wishes for such commitment. A mating bond is not something to be undertaken lightly, and yet that is what I hope to pursue.’  
  
‘What, you want to marry him?’ McCoy asked incredulously. ‘Just like that? I’m a prime example of why you shouldn’t rush into relationships.’  
  
Spock shrugged, eyes flicking to the photograph of the doctor and Joanna on the desk in front of him, the former wearing the most genuine smile on his face that he had ever seen.  
  
‘He is my One and my only. There will be no other.’  
  
McCoy’s eyebrows raised, his arms relaxing from their defensive posture.  
  
‘Well, I think you’re crazy, but whatever. Bet Jimmy would marry you though, if you asked. He’s crazy about you.’  
  
The very thought twisted Spock’s stomach with pleasure, but he stood by his decision. Apparently, so did Doctor McCoy.  
  
‘But I agree that you should wait to start proposing. Knowing Jim, he’d only get overexcited, and I don’t know what that would do to his system right now. I want his stress levels as low as I can keep them without permanent sedation.’  
  
‘Then it is settled,’ Spock agreed, an unidentified weight compressing his chest. ‘I will wait. Have you any preliminary ideas as to what sort of medication Jim needs?’  
  
McCoy threw his hands upwards in helpless surrender, leaning back in his chair.  
  
‘Specifically, I know nothing. Generally, it needs to be able to able to fight back against whatever is the source of the sickness, like white blood cells fight off a virus. I’ve got some samples of his blood already, which can be replicated if needs be.’  
  
‘Something is needed to neutralise the poisoning,’ Spock muttered. ‘How long do we have?’  
  
‘I don’t know, Spock, but I’m thinking along the line of weeks rather than months, considering the rate of his decline. I can keep dosing him up with more and more medication, but that’s not going to keep him alive.’  
  
It was a blunt reminder of Jim’s fragile mortality, and it sent a miserable shiver rattling up his spine. He had the illogical desire to run and hide from the problem, to ignore that Jim’s declining health was in the care of a handful of medical and Science staff who did not understand exactly what was destroying him from the inside out.  
  
‘I will take a blood sample and brief those in the laboratories once I have visited Jim,’ Spock found himself saying, his voice feeling foggy and distant, detached from his body.  
  
‘Spock, you can’t just tell them it’s Jim’s,’ Doctor McCoy protested. ‘There’ll be ship-wide panic by Gamma!’  
  
‘I will not say that. I will tell them that we need a substance to counteract a viral infection. They may suspect, but will be unlikely to ask. If they do, I will insist upon their absolute discretion.’  
  
He paused, a thought coming upon him as sudden as phaser fire.  
  
‘Have you informed Jim?’  
  
McCoy’s steady gaze faltered, and he shook his head.  
  
‘I just got the results back a few minutes before you came in,’ he murmured.  
  
‘He deserves to be told now,’ Spock said firmly, moving to stand on legs that did not feel quite as stable as they had that morning. ‘I will come with you.’  
  
The Doctor did not argue. He too stood, running a hand down his face, his hollowed eyes bleak.   
  
‘He’s going to need you,’ he claimed, as they travelled from the office to Jim’s room. ‘Don’t let him down.’  
  
Spock had no intention of doing so, and would have said as much if they had not then arrived at Jim’s door. He hesitated by the door release, exchanging a significant look with McCoy, who nodded once. He opened the door. The temperature was higher in the room than in the rest of Medbay, and the heated air rolled pleasantly over Spock as he entered, warming his chilled bones. Jim was sat up in bed, hair delightfully tousled, and his baggy shirt was slipping off one shoulder. When he noticed their presence, he beamed brightly, locking the padd in his lap.  
  
‘Hey!’ he chirped, his smile beginning to slide away as his eyes flicked between them. ‘Whats- what’s wrong?’  
  
Spock looked to Doctor McCoy to explain, but when there was no immediate reply, the colour drained from Jim’s face. Spock reached for him, and as soon as his hand came within reachable distance, it was grabbed and squeezed, sending pleasure ricocheting through him. Suppressing his inappropriate desire, he allowed himself to be tugged into Jim, his arm to be a comfort blanket, to be breathed in like pure oxygen. His free hand smoothed down the disobedient cowlicks that had arisen from days spent in bed, and he stared at McCoy, silently willing him not to lengthen Jim’s frightened suspense.  
  
‘The transfusion didn’t work, Jim,’ McCoy said softly, piercing the thick, weighted silence with words that still hurt Spock, despite this being the second occasion he had heard them. Jim twitched against his arm, probably an unintentional muscle spasm, but Spock tightened his grip nonetheless.  
  
‘So… what’s next?’ Jim asked, his voice pitchy with badly-disguised fear. ‘Another one?’  
  
He and McCoy shook their heads in tandem, and he heard Jim’s breathing shallow, the pulse resting against the heel of his hand ramping up from andante to allegretto. Nauseating fear transmitted skin-to-skin, battering against his shields.  
  
McCoy continued, ‘Something is infecting you from inside your body. I don’t know what that is exactly, but what I _do_ know is that we need to find a cure pretty damn quickly.’  
  
‘But I feel fine!’ Jim objected, eyes bright and frightened.  
  
‘You’re dosed up to the eyeballs. I doubt you’d feel it if I chopped your leg off right now.’  
  
Jim let out a small huff of breath, like laughter, but the remnants of mirth soon faded from his face, and his rising terror was making it hard for Spock to breathe. Aware that it was a risk, he lowered his shields for a split-second, bombarded by the intensity of Jim’s flaring emotions, and sent forth a wave of all the reassurance he could dredge up from within. While he reconstructed his defences, Jim’s spiralling panic died down under the blanket of warmth he had received. His eyelids fluttered, closing for a second, and when they opened again, his pupils had contracted. Though he could not see their hands from his position, Spock felt Jim’s crushing grip loosen a little.  
  
‘The medical team are going to try and synthesise a remedy,’ he explained, speaking for the first time since he had entered the room. Jim twisted to look into his face, and the lost expression Spock saw there made his stomach drop unpleasantly. ‘As am I.’  
  
 _‘You?’_ Jim blurted, incredulous.  
  
For the second time that day, Spock was exasperated by humans continually underestimating him.  
  
‘He’s got biomed experience, and so have a lot of his minions,’ McCoy butted in, before he could speak. ‘Plus, we need all the help we can get.’  
  
Spock filled in the blanks.  
  
‘It appears that time is of the essence, Jim.’  
  
Jim’s gaze was direct and unwavering as he looked up at him, the fear almost entirely replaced with something akin to determination.  
  
‘How long?’ he asked thickly, and although his eyes were fixed on his, Spock assumed that the question was not directed at him.  
  
‘From the way your body and blood samples have been reacting? Not long. Weeks would be my best estimate. Dammit, Jim.’  
  
Spock tore his eyes away from Jim’s to look at the doctor, whose voice had taken on its own thick tone.  
  
‘You fight this with everything you’ve got, you hear me?’  
  
‘As if I could do anything less,’ Jim replied boldly, removing his hand from Spock’s arm, but keeping his other in its tight clasp. ‘Now, haven’t you got a cure to find?’  
  
Doctor McCoy snorted, his previous misery giving way to reluctant humour.  
  
‘Cheeky little shit. _Yes,_ you’re going to be my priority for the near future – bet you’re gonna love that!’  
  
‘Always,’ Jim smiled, and as usual, it comforted Spock to see his face brighten.  
  
‘I’ll just get you that blood sample,’ McCoy told him, but before Spock could reply in acknowledgement, he was gone.  
  
As the doors closed behind him, Jim’s shoulders slumped. He drew his knees up like a child.  
  
‘Spock?’ he whispered, bringing their hands to rest together on his right patella. ‘I don’t want to die.’  
  
A spasm ran through Spock at the words, making his hand twitch in Jim’s. The resulting spark of pleasure was immediately overshadowed by his absolute horror at the thought of it. He remembered the haze of rage that had descended after Jim had taken his last breath in the radiation chamber, the madness that had driven him to break bone, and shuddered.  
  
‘You will not,’ he insisted through a suddenly narrow windpipe. He had no empirical evidence to back up his claim, and Jim knew it, judging by the way he stared at him under thick eyelashes, once again radiating anxiety.  
  
‘How do you know that?’  
  
The question was soft, almost pleading, like Jim was placing all his hopes in him. There was no hope to give. His tongue felt thick and unwieldy, mouth dry as the deserts of lost Vulcan, vocal cords stilled in a way that this man, and only this man, could induce in him.  
  
‘You will not die,’ he repeated more strongly, words ragged and desperate, as if saying them with such fervour could define them as truth. ‘I will not allow it.’  
  
The last burst from him almost without thought, but when the corner of Jim’s lips lifted, he found he was unconcerned by his lapse.  
  
‘Thanks, Spock,’ Jim whispered. His grip had loosened enough on Spock’s hand that he would have been able to extract it with little effort, but he did not. In these uncertain times, he would take what opportunities he had to be in physical contact with his t’hy’la, although he could not yet give Jim himself. _You will live, t’hy’la,_ he thought, feeling with regret the way the words that could have flowed so easily into Jim’s mind were constrained by his shields, evaporating on contact with that invisible barrier. _You will live, and I will make you mine._  
  
‘You are welcome, Jim.’  
  
‘Right!’ McCoy called, as he came striding back through the doors, tube in hand. ‘Here’s the sample, now go and make a start, and stop cluttering up my Medbay!’  
  
Reluctantly, Spock let his hand slide from Jim’s, perspiration making slick what might once have caught with friction.  
  
‘What, now?’ Jim squeaked, his fingers twitching abortively towards him.   
  
Spock nodded. Doctor McCoy was right – the quicker he could conceive of an idea, the quicker Jim would recover.  
  
‘I will return when I am able,’ he promised, attempting to inject some reassurance into his tone when Jim visibly trembled. ‘For now, the doctor is right. I must go.’  
  
He punctuated his final statement with a tiny smile, his lips forming an unfamiliar curve in a heartfelt attempt at comfort. Doctor McCoy began to choke on his own saliva. Spock ignored him in favour of making sure that Jim was accepting of the situation, gentle eyes fixed on him until he nodded hesitantly, bottom lip protruding in a pout.   
  
‘Go on, before he explodes,’ Jim sulked, waving his hand in the vague direction of McCoy, who was red-faced and scowling as he was with alarming frequency.   
  
‘I will return,’ Spock promised him, once again paying little attention to the other man’s wild gestures of annoyance. ‘Doctor, if you must take out your misplaced frustrations on another person, then take them out on me instead of Jim. Emotional stress may hinder his recovery. Good day.’  
  
‘Don’t parrot my own words back at me, hobgoblin! Go on, get!’  
  
Reluctant to add to an already emotionally-charged atmosphere, Spock nodded in reassurance at Jim, whose mouth curved gently upwards, and turned to leave. The moment the doors closed behind him, he was hit with a wall of despair that he had not had time to overcome. Glad that the corridor was deserted, he closed his eyes, braced himself against a bright white wall and allowed himself a brief moment to be overtaken with dread. When he let his shields flicker out of existence, the force of it made his stomach drop, made his lungs fight for oxygen despite its obvious availability, and before it could overwhelm him entirely, he gathered all of his mental strength and re-erected the barrier. Too-human eyes flickered open. He hoped that his turmoil would not be evident to all that saw him. Regardless, he would need to meditate tonight.  
  
Forcing himself upright, he pushed off from the wall and staggered off down the corridor, taking altogether too long to make his recalcitrant feet move in proper formation. He walked blindly through Medbay, so lost in his own dreadful imaginings that he did not notice Doctor M’Benga until he was standing directly in front of him. He blinked.  
  
‘I apologise, Doctor,’ he murmured. ‘I was not entirely aware of my surroundings.’  
  
M’Benga smiled, kind face drawn with sympathy and concern.  
  
‘You know that we’re going to do everything we can for Jim, don’t you?’  
  
‘Of course,’ Spock replied woodenly, although his greatest fear was that ‘everything’ would not be quite enough. ‘As am I.’  
  
‘I would expect nothing less,’ Doctor M’Benga agreed. He opened his mouth as if to continue speaking, and Spock realised with a jolt that his shielding was beginning to fade. He had attempted to meditate the day before whilst Jim was sleeping, but he had not succeeded, distracted in turn by the unfamiliar environment, and his fervent need to watch over his t’hy’la. It would be unwise to allow this conversation to continue, considering the fact that it would likely stray into questioning him about his emotional wellbeing.  
  
‘I must go,’ he blurted, before any such continuation could occur. ‘I need to deliver this blood sample to Laboratory Two.’  
  
M’Benga looked puzzled at his abrupt admission, but thankfully did not seem affronted.  
  
‘Alright, Spock, off you go. If you have any problems, come and talk to me.’  
  
Spock dipped his head, unsure as to whether he was talking about his work on the cure or problems in general, but he did not ask. He turned on his heel and left.  
  
Laboratory Two was swarming with crewmen when he arrived, both those on shift, and those eager to see the analyses of the collected flora and fauna. However, all fell silent when he entered the room. It took all of Spock’s remaining effort to maintain his shields when surrounded by such a large group of people.  
  
‘As I already seem to have your attention, I shall inform you of our new task to complete,’ he projected, subconsciously aware of the admiration permeating the room. ‘Until further notice, all those with biomedical or related experience must abandon their previous assignments.’  
  
There was an immediate bout of furious whispering, and Spock held up a hand to quell it, displaying the vial in his other.  
  
‘You must trust me when I say that this new task is of absolute importance. Here is a blood sample contaminated with an unknown strain of viral infection. The source of the contamination needs to be isolated and destroyed without causing major damage to healthy blood cells. In other words, a cure must be found as rapidly as possible. I must stress the absolute importance of your success in this endeavour.’  
  
It took every ounce of strength he had not to let his voice crack and express the turmoil within. He felt he might fall apart at the seams, eyes suddenly stinging with the threat of tears, but he knew that he could not show this weakness in front of the crew. The group of ensigns and lieutenants remained silent in the wake of his words, some looking dumbfounded, others frowning, and still more seemed concerned, eyebrows drawn together and heads tilted. He thrust the blood sample at Ensign Vadim, who rolled it from his distal interphalangeal joints into his palm, and nodded.   
  
‘I shall return later,’ Spock rasped, agitation prickling his skin when nobody moved. ‘Begin!’  
  
The sharp snap was enough to send the room into motion, and the final straw for Spock, who fled for the relative safety of his quarters, burning shame adding to the tumult of perilous emotions battering against his weakened shields.  Once within, he lit his incense with shaking fingers, raised the temperature as high as he could bear, and sank to the floor, completely overcome. The fear that he had not shown in Medbay surfaced, stealing away his breath with icy fingers, and the thoughts he had tried so hard to suppress came with it. He drew sharp gasps of air in through his nose as his throat closed in panic at the flashing images of Jim’s cold, lifeless body, of his monochrome world without Jim in it, of the crushing loneliness and self-loathing he would feel in the event of his- No, he could not even think the word. It could not occur. It could not. Employing every strategy he knew to calm his rapidly-beating heart and laboured breathing, Spock willed peace upon himself, knowing that he would need balance in order to strengthen his shields, and keep the fearful madness at bay.  
  
Tears he had not felt fall slid down his face and neck, forming cool puddles in his collarbones and wetting his tunic. Body wracked with fierce trembling, he squeezed his eyes shut until the muscles surrounding them throbbed, and the few droplets that forced their way out were wiped away with a graceless hand. He breathed in deeply – abdomen, thoracic, upper chest, abdomen, thoracic, upper chest – counting the beats of each unsteady breath until the trembling stopped and his throat relaxed, swallowing through the dull ache that remained. Air thick with incense, the room itself served as a relaxant, and before long, he was prepared for meditation. Placing both hands palm-up on his knees so that sensitive fingertips would not distract him from his purpose, Spock fell into his own mind, internally wincing at the pitiful state of his shields. Echoes of memories and horrific visualisations of the future and whispers of dread escaped from gaping cracks in the translucent barrier, hissing through like gas escaping from a punctured pipeline. He reached out, placing his hands against the bulging wall, concentrating on pushing the darkness away. The shield pulsed as it was renewed, cracks reforming into something solid and strong. Just as he must be for Jim.  
  
With his shields intact, he withdrew from his mind and tested the barrier. They would hold – for now. Eyes still closed, he breathed in the calming incense and considered how much of him was now thrumming with _Jim Jim Jim._ He thought that if he were cracked open then Jim’s name might run down through his core. Everything of Spock stirred for him, yearned for him, mind, body and katra. He would not allow Jim to fade, not again. Spock himself had carried him from the radiation chamber, cold and limp in his arms, and the minutes between the transfusing of blood and the resuming of his vital signs had been agonising. Having known that dark void, Spock knew he would do everything possible to prevent it occurring again. With that determined thought in mind, he opened his eyes and rose, snuffing out the candles, and preparing to leave for the laboratory. His hand was reaching for the door release when his communicator beeped.  
  
‘Spock.’  
  
 _‘McCoy here. I was just wondering if you wanted a sample of Khan’s blood sent up. We have it on ice.’_  
  
‘That would be useful, Doctor, thank you,’ he replied. ‘Anything that you can provide would be most welcome.’  
  
 _‘Right, I’ll do that. I have to get back to Jim now.’_  
  
Spock’s heart seemed to stop beating.  
  
‘What is wrong?’ he demanded.  
  
 _‘Nothing, but I’m keeping an eye on him in case it does. Just get going will you?’_  
  
The communicator cut out abruptly, and Spock took heed of his advice, making haste to the laboratory as his heart tried to resume a normal rhythm. All else could wait. Jim, now and forever, was his priority.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, time for an update? :) As usual, I'm exhausted from training, work, and university, but I'm hoping for a quieter time around Christmas. Hope you guys enjoy, please tell me what you think, and feel free to check out my [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)!


	15. Nothing Left Of Yesterday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note, guys: this chapter does contain a brief, non-explicit discussion of rape and mention of victim blame. I personally wouldn't consider it triggering, but that's not for me to say. Be mindful, lovelies - I don't want anyone upset <3

Jim felt as if the walls were pressing in on him. It had been five days, five _endless_ days of alternating driving fear and hair-pulling boredom, and he had had enough. When he wasn’t being poked and prodded – and _probed,_ oh god – he was left alone for hours on end to do absolutely fuck all whilst everyone tried to prevent him from dying. He didn’t feel like he was dying, not like he used to, but he was suffocating under the bright lights of Medbay, the cold, clinical emptiness and sharp bleach smell reminding him of force-feeding ‘til vomit and rough hands on skeletal arms and the kids screaming because they were being taken from him and his own hopeless cries and-  
  
He needed out. Now.  
  
Stumbling from the bed on shaky legs, he ripped the IV from his arm, the sting barely noticeable in the wake of his rising panic. He took in rapid bursts of air in through his nose as he tore off the gown he’d been forced into and threw on his uniform pants and undershirt, slamming his hand down on the door release. _Blessed freedom._ The air seemed less thin now he was out of his confinement, breathing slowing to a normal pace as he sneaked past the occupied nurses, who were thankfully few due to it being Gamma shift. It was embarrassing, but he hadn’t been able to sleep without Spock there, having become quickly habituated to the feeling of strong arms tighten around him as he drifted off, taut, lean muscle pressed up against him through two thin layers of clothing. But Spock was becoming more and more unavailable as time went on – he already had double duties as First Officer and Science Officer, and now he had Jim’s duties and looking for a cure to contend with too. It was no mean feat, not even for a half-Vulcan. The urge to go and find him was almost overwhelming, but Jim knew he couldn’t, not least because Spock would almost definitely send him straight back to bed. With that thought in mind, he scuttled past Bones’ office and out of the main doors. Scotty wouldn’t send him away.  
  
He reached Engineering without interference; everyone he encountered was of low rank, and though he didn’t know all by name, he grinned at each person nonetheless, receiving a number of shy smiles in return. Scotty, naturally, was with Keenser when he arrived in the bowels of the ship, reaching ineffectually for his suspended ankles, dangling over the side of a high pipe.  
  
‘Yes, I know you’re tall for a Roylan, but that doesn’t mean you can reach _tha’,_ you dingbat! Get doon!’  
  
‘Everything okay?’ he called when he was close enough, snorting as Keenser started, and began to wiggle his way off.  
  
‘Yep!’ Scotty squeaked. ‘Yep, everythin’s brilliant, Cap’n. Nothin’ off the record goin’ on here, that’s for sure.’  
  
Jim raised an eyebrow in reply. As Keenser struggled, Scotty rolled his eyes and tugged on his ankles so that he landed unsteadily on a table below, then hopped to the floor.  
  
‘Maybe tha’ll teach ya to go messin’ aboot.’  
  
Keenser muttered something that sounded like ‘fuck off’, and wandered away with spanner in hand.  
  
‘Cheeky little bugger,’ Scotty said fondly, before turning back to him. ‘Aren’t you meant to be in bed, Cap’n?’  
  
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ Jim blurted. ‘Need an extra pair of hands?’  
  
Scotty squinted at him, but shrugged in acceptance nonetheless.  
  
‘Well, we were doin’ some… some warp core maintenance, but we’ve also got a Jeffries tube that needs some tinkerin’ with.’  
  
‘Awesome,’ Jim grinned, thankful that Scotty had given him an out. He had no wish to go near that radiation chamber ever again voluntarily. ‘Point me and I’ll get started.’  
  
‘Oh no, I’m comin’ with you. It’s a two-man job, that one!’  
  
Jim trailed behind him as he led him through a series of service corridors towards the tube. His hand was beginning to sting where the IV had been ripped out so violently, and there was a line of blood staining his skin from wrist to fingertip. He hoped he hadn’t left a trail that someone would have to clean up. Come to think of it, it wasn’t just his arm that was hurting. His stomach was beginning to ache, like in the aftermath of too many sit-ups, but he ignored it, not wanting to be trapped in that stifling room again so soon. It turned out that Scotty may very well have been humouring him, because when they reached the Jeffries tube, it was he that climbed down it, passing up a broken comms box.  
‘I need that takin’ apart, if you please,’ he said cheerfully, descending a little on the ladder to fiddle with some sparking wiring. Jim sat cross-legged like a child by the access shaft, content to do as he was bid. His legs felt a bit shaky anyway. He rolled out the tool kit and selected a screwdriver.  
  
‘So… you and Uhura?’  
  
‘Yep,’ Scotty replied, a smile in his echoing voice. ‘She’s a fantastic lady, don’t you think, sir?’  
  
‘Yes, I do,’ Jim replied honestly, remembering how he had so envied her for having Spock’s attentions, but understanding why completely.  
  
‘She’s a genius, Cap’n, and beautiful to boot! She’s been teachin’ me some Klingon!’  
  
‘Is that so?’ Jim said softly, happy for them both. If only his relationship with Spock were so simple. ‘I’m- I’m glad you have each other, Scotty.’  
  
‘Yeah, me too. Now when are you and Mr. Spock going to get together?’  
  
Jim’s hands spasmed, and his screwdriver went skittering across the floor. Blushing furiously, he leant forward on his hands and knees and retrieved it.  
  
‘What do you mean?’ he blurted, cheeks on fire. His hands were shaking and uncooperative as he attempted to use the screwdriver, and he pressed them hard against his knees in an attempt to still them. If Scotty had noticed his ridiculous pining, did that mean everyone else had? Or had Nyota told him? He heard the dull clang of heavy boots on metal and Scotty’s head popped up above the rim of the tube.  
  
‘Ah, c’mon now. The both of you are smitten, even I can see that!’ he smiled.  
  
‘N-no,’ Jim protested, swallowing against the sickly feeling in his stomach. ‘No, he doesn’t- Spock doesn’t-’  
  
‘Are you alrigh’, Cap’n?’  
  
Jim abandoned the comms box for the moment, rattling in his hands as it was. Nausea was rising in him, goosebumps appearing on his exposed skin as he tried not to retch, lips clamped tight. He nodded at Scotty, who didn’t seem too convinced.  
  
‘Wha’s the matter?’ he asked, climbing out of the access shaft. Jim shook his head this time, but the movement set off a miserable chain reaction, and he couldn’t suppress his retching any longer. Scotty scrambled off out of sight, dashing back with a bucket in hand, and just in time too, because acid was burning high in Jim’s throat, and he emptied the meagre contents of his stomach into it. Scotty patted his back as he convulsed, shivering his way through each expulsion of bile, until finally, he sat back, exhausted. There were stabbing pains behind his eyes, and he closed them against the light – not that it helped much.  
  
‘Cap’n?’  
  
His eyes opened into slits, then wider when he saw that Scotty was blocking out the glare. His headache didn’t go away, just relocated to his temples, and he gritted his teeth to avoid crying out in pain. What a monumentally stupid idea this had been.  
  
‘Think I need to get back to Medbay, Scotty,’ he gasped, unsure of his balance even while kneeling.  
  
‘Yeah, you look like it an’ all,’ Scotty replied, helping him stagger to his feet. He was overwhelmed by the familiar feeling of not knowing which way was up, a disorientating dizziness that made the world spin about him, and he latched on tight to Scotty’s arm for support. His nose itched.  
  
‘You’re bleeding!’  
  
‘Great,’ he said weakly, hand making its vague, uncoordinated way upwards to wipe away the blood that was dripping from his nose. As that drip became a gush, he stemmed the flow with his sleeve, wincing at the increasing uncomfortable dampness against his wrist. Scotty was walking him out of Engineering towards a turbolift, but his legs felt like jelly, and he was putting more and more of his weight on the poor man. Eventually, his knees gave way, and he slumped, light-headed, against a wall.  
  
‘I’ve got to call Medbay, sir,’ Scotty insisted. There was guilt in his voice, in his eyes, but Jim waved it away, giving him a lopsided thumbs-up. He closed his eyes once more, the conversation over the communicator sounding distant and quiet. Head pounding, his arm dropped, leaving the blood from his nose to trickle down his face and splatter onto his undershirt.  
  
‘Cap’n!’ came the distant call. His arm was shaken, his pliant body along with it. ‘Jim!’  
  
‘Mmm?’  
  
‘Try and stay awake, sir.’  
  
‘M’tryin’.’  
  
‘If you stay awake, I’ll tell you how I’ve been winnin’ all those poker games.’  
  
Jim’s eyelids were too heavy to force themselves open, but he made a small noise of victory at Scotty’s promise.  
  
‘Knew you’d been cheating.’  
  
‘No! Well… mebbe a little bit.’  
  
Jim snorted.  
  
‘Still knew it. Tell me.’  
  
At this point, he would welcome any distraction from the horrendous pain in his head. It was so great that he felt he would soon pass out without anything to soothe it. He wanted Spock so badly. Those hands were as good a medication to him as any.  
  
‘You see, the thing is…’  
  
But Jim never got to know Scotty’s poker secrets, because there was a sudden commotion nearby, and he was lifted onto what he assumed was a stretcher on his side, so that the blood ran down his cheek, leaving a sticky pool between him and cold metal. He whined in protest at his discomfort, and was momentarily indulged by the forceful press of a cloth against his nose.  
  
‘You damn imbecile,’ he heard, and the Southern drawl comforted him, even if it was meant to be insulting. ‘You’re gonna be fine.’  
  
Grateful for his presence even in the wake of his own idiocy, he reached up to rest his hand on Bones’, and was rewarded by the fleeting touch of a second hand on top of his own.  
  
‘Goddamn idiot.’  
  
That was to be expected. He smiled as best he could with Satan’s pitchfork stabbing at his temporal lobes, but it was fleeting. The lancing tendrils of pain radiating through him took his smile and his breath, and he twisted in discomfort, choking on a sob. For once, he was happy to feel the sharp sting of a hypospray, arching gratefully into it and feeling the drug begin to take effect with almost orgasmic pleasure, letting his spine fall back into alignment. He knew the second they had entered Medbay from the bleach smell and the bright lights that burned through his closed eyelids, and he shifted his hand to shield them. A soft, damp cloth wiped away the aftermath of his nosebleed, which had thankfully slowed to a trickle. Though the pain was slowly leaving him, he still felt dizzy and uneasy, his turbulent stomach still not quite settled.  
  
‘Thanks, Geoff. Spock and I can take it from here.’  
  
Spock? Without warning, Jim was swiftly lifted from the stretcher into gentle, familiar arms, and laid on the bed. He forced his eyelids open, only to be confronted with dark eyes that were hard as flint, a few inches from his face. Oh. Oh hell, Spock was _pissed._ He stared pleadingly back, willing those eyes to soften, for that jawline to lose its sharp, set edge, but he was left disappointed. Spock moved away, body stiff and radiating anger. His stomach dropping in a way that was nothing to do with nausea, Jim half-sat up to follow him, but was pushed straight back into the bed by Bones, who hooked him back up to the IV, ominously silent.  
  
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked quietly, eyes fixed on Spock’s left shoulder, because he couldn’t bear to see such fury directed at him. The answer was bitten out, enunciated with such powerful disdain that he trembled.  
  
‘In my twenty third hour of uninterrupted work, I received a panicked call from Doctor McCoy, who informed me that you had disappeared from Medbay. I rushed from the Bridge, imagining that perhaps an intruder had stolen you away, but before I could locate you by way of the computer, I discovered that you had _voluntarily_ removed yourself in order for no other reason than to distract Lieutenant Commander Scott.’  
  
‘I’m sorry!’ Jim bleated, wilting in the face of such animosity. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-!’  
  
‘Do you wish for death, Jim?’ Spock demanded, volume rising along with his apparent ire.  
  
‘No, I-’  
  
‘Then why did you disconnect yourself from the machine that is delivering the medication which keeps you alive?’  
  
‘I-’  
  
‘A significant percentage of the crew is toiling in order to prevent your demise. At the very least, you could respect-’  
  
‘Stop!’ Jim shrieked, throat raw with the force of his cry. Spock fell silent, the impetus of his ire apparently gone. Praying for Spock to have a more welcoming disposition as he looked up, Jim was selfishly glad to see more worry than contempt in Spock’s gaze. When he next spoke, his voice was thick with self-loathing. ‘It reminded- it reminded me-’  
  
He couldn’t go on. Rendered numb by the enlightenment of his own inconsiderate nature, of the blatant disrespect he was affording his crew, the trembling that had begun upon Spock’s first furious words became so forceful that he feared he might vibrate right off the bed. A heavy, warm hand settled on his shoulder as he struggled, attempting to find words that wouldn’t rise from his throat.  
  
‘Want something for that?’ Bones murmured, anchoring him as he shivered. He shook his head rapidly in reply, finding it difficult to meet Spock’s eyes now he had realised what an idiot he’d been. Frank’s venomous slurring echoed through his head. _Useless. Pathetic. Waste of space._ He was right for once.  
  
‘Reminded you of what, Jim?’ Spock asked, softer than before, but no less urgent.  
  
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he whispered, afraid of what he would say if he started. ‘Apologies for the interruption, Commander.’  
  
Heedless of them both, he curled up on his side and let Bones’ hand slip from his shoulder, making himself a cocoon from the sheets. It was technically night-time; might as well act like it. There was a loaded silence in the wake of his obvious dismissal, then –  
  
‘If I am needed, I shall be in Laboratory Two.’  
  
Jim didn’t respond, his eyes shut tight and his face buried in the bed. Slow, even footsteps echoed across the tile, then he heard the doors open and shut. A finger hooked into the sheets, and though he resisted, the fabric was pulled away from his heated, sweaty face.  
  
‘Well, I was going to knock seven shades of verbal shit out of you,’ Bones said matter-of-factly, ‘but Lover Boy already did that so…’  
  
Jim wrenched the sheets back out of his hand and buried himself within them again, pressing his face in so hard that he could barely breathe. For the second time, Bones took advantage of his weakness in order to pull them away, this time throwing them out of his reach.  
  
‘I’ve not been putting you back together these last few years to have you asphyxiate yourself with a two hundred thread cotton/polyester mix. Now, what’s wrong?’  
  
Tears swam in the edges of his vision, and he blinked them away furiously, shrugging.  
  
‘Don’t give me that. C’mon, kid, talk to me.’  
  
‘Tarsus.’  
  
Jim gagged on the word, spitting it out like regurgitated bile. He didn’t look up. When he had first told Bones sketchy details of what he’d lived through on that godforsaken hellhole of a colony, he had vomited. Now, he inhaled sharply at Jim’s unexpected admission, slung an arm around him and pulled him into his side. The prickle of tears became a burn, then it was too much to hold them in, and he let go, sobbing like a baby in his best friend’s arms.  
  
‘Sorry,’ he hiccupped. ‘Pathetic.’  
  
‘No, Jim, you’re not pathetic at all. Not at all.’  
  
He cried until he felt wrung out and wretched, throat aching and eyes swollen, face buried in Bones’ tunic. Bones’ hand had settled in his hair at some point, smoothing it down like you would a child’s. Jim wondered how many times he’d done this for Joanna.  
  
‘What about here reminded you of Tarsus?’ Bones asked softly, when his sobbing had died down to the occasional snivel.  
  
‘Not Tarsus,’ he corrected, wiping his nose on his sleeve, to Bones’ obvious disgust. ‘Afterwards. The ‘Fleet doctors didn’t know what to do with us, and the ones back on Earth were worse – they were rough and insensitive and their solution to every trauma response was to sedate us. Guess I can’t blame them entirely. They were overworked already, so having nine terrified, disturbed, malnourished kids dumped on them couldn’t have helped. But it was horrible, Bones, horrible. They took- they took them away from me. Kevin, Thomas, all the way down to little Freya, and they wouldn’t let us stay together for treatment, even though I was the only parent they’d known for a year.’  
  
Bones pulled two tissues out of the box on his side table, mopping Jim’s face with one and handing him the other to blow his nose. He did so noisily.  
  
‘What about your mom?’  
  
‘What _about_ her?’ Jim replied bitterly. ‘She was on leave on Earth while it was all happening, wasn’t part of the ‘Fleet force that eventually came to save us. Dumped Frank in the meantime - not because he was kicking the shit out of me, but because she was tired of his leeching. To her credit, she stayed a few weeks after I came home from the hospital before taking a job on Deneva. By then, I was 16, and could look after myself.’  
  
Bones’ face had twisted while Jim had spoken, with true anger there, unlike the usual feigned grumpiness.  
  
‘Look after _yourself?’_ he raged. ‘You were a _child,_ Jim, and a horrifically traumatised one at that! How were you supposed to work through your issues without anyone there to guide you through it all?’  
  
Jim shrugged, a coldness coming over him as he recalled the empty house he’d woken up to, and the rushed, scrawled note she left behind, detailing the money she’d left for him. Not even a goodbye. He remembered how he’d stared at that paper until the ink-bled words blurred into two, too frightened to cry in case he couldn’t stop when there was no one around to calm him.  
  
‘I guess I didn’t. Had terrible nightmares. Still do sometimes.’  
  
In fact, that was what had woken him in the first place. He never had nightmares when Spock was there, soothed by the warm embrace they always ended up in no matter how the night began, the rapid thump of a healthy heart under Jim’s hand an unspeakable comfort. Being without him after almost a week had sent him into an uneasy sleep in the first place, and his demons had quickly resurfaced. He’d never told anyone about what he’d had to do to get the kids food, prostituting himself to degenerates who were now either dead or locked up for life, nor about the constant smell of burning flesh and rampant cannibalism, but that was what he most often dreamed about.  
  
‘You wanna talk?’ Bones asked. ‘About the nightmares… or Tarsus?’  
  
Jim swallowed thickly. Both topics, intertwined as they were, were likely to do more harm out in the open. But he wanted to tell Bones. Surely he wouldn’t judge? Paranoia had a hold on his vocal cords, but he steeled his resolve and took back control.  
  
‘I trust you, Bones,’ he whispered, twisting the sheets round his fingers in anxiety. ‘You won’t judge me.’  
  
It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Bones shook his head nonetheless. ‘Tell me.’  
  
‘I was happy on Tarsus at first, you know. Mom might have sent me there as punishment, but it was the first time in my life that I ever felt wanted. Aunt Grace and Uncle Gabe were fantastic, and I knew they loved me just as much as Lily and Charlotte, their own kids. They let me work at whatever level I wanted in school, and they had some pretty advanced programs running so I didn’t get bored – xenolinguistics, astrophysics, advanced calculus – you name it, they had it. I was happy.’  
  
He smiled wistfully as he remembered those early, bright days, belonging to a real family at last. No one ever hurt him, even when he messed up, and Lily and Charlotte had treated him like an older brother.  
  
‘But then…’  
  
‘But then,’ Jim repeated numbly. His hands twisted so hard in the sheets that they began to hurt. ‘Then everything went wrong. You know the basics. Crop failure, announcement of extermination, mass murder… but that was just the beginning. Four thousand people were dead, my family included, and yet there still wasn’t enough food to go around. I ran when Aunt Grace told me to, ran like a coward into the wastelands and hid.’  
  
‘You weren’t a coward, Jim, you were a frightened little boy,’ Bones insisted, shaking Jim’s arm for emphasis.  
  
‘I- I did try and help the little ones whose parents were being taken away and exterminated. I snuck into towns on the outskirts and helped a few out into the wilderness. At one point, there were almost thirty of us.’  
  
‘Thirty?’ Bones said incredulously. ‘How the hell did you look after thirty kids?’  
  
‘There were a few around my age at first. Lori. Keval. Guillaume. They passed away one by one. Lori was killed by a guard foraging for scraps, Keval got an infection after one of his antennae was sliced off, and Guillaume got the sniffles and that was it. He was dead in a few days. Our numbers waxed and waned – mostly waned. The tiny ones so often didn’t make it. Toddlers brought by their older siblings who starved for them. Babies we picked up, abandoned, who I didn’t know how to nurse. They died in my arms, weakened… wailing.’  
  
Jim broke off, voice thick with tears again. Bones didn’t speak, just rubbed rhythmically up and down his back until he opened his mouth to continue.  
  
‘They all got graves,’ he said roughly. ‘Dug them myself, made crosses with sticks and twine. Just that was enough to make me want to lie down and never get up again, but there were others, sick, and tiny, and thin, so thin, and they all needed to be fed. By that time, most of the people not on Kodos’ list had died anyway, from starvation or sickness, or – if they were lucky – getting shot. Those who remained were either just surviving day-to-day like we were, or predators.’  
  
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly to steel himself before he began again. His voice grew flat, inflectionless.  
  
‘There were a few emergency grain stores around, guarded by Kodos’ men. We’d picked the surrounding area clean, scavenging every tin of food left behind, hunting every animal. It was insane to even try to sneak into somewhere so heavily guarded, but what could I do, Bones? The kids had to be fed. I insisted on going alone, leaving Thomas to look after the younger ones, no weaponry apart from a tiny knife that was taken from me as soon as they caught me. I didn’t even get to the store before they saw me, and I couldn’t run away in case they followed and found the others. There were three of them, and they told me they knew about the kids, and I asked them what they wanted, and they- There were three of them, Bones, and I- and they-’  
  
He drew in a shaky breath through congested nostrils and croaked, ‘Three of them. It hurt.’  
  
Realisation had apparently dawned on Bones, because his expression flitted between horror and disgust, reaching for him as he babbled.  
  
‘Hurt a lot, but I got the food, and I cleaned myself off before I went back and it was worth it to see the kids eating for once, even if I had to do it again and again and again and they brought their friends and it was all- _f-f-fuck.’_  
  
A warm hand cupped the back of his head and pulled him into Bones’ shoulder. He didn’t resist, wrapped up in the horrors of his past, trembling. It took a moment to realise that Bones was trembling too.  
  
‘Filthy, disgusting sons of whores,’ he snarled, his violent tone a direct contrast to the gentle fingers carding through Jim’s hair. ‘Fuckin’ scum of the galaxy. Tell me they’re dead. Tell me they suffered.’  
  
Jim dug his fingers into Bones’ triceps. He didn’t complain.  
  
‘Most died trying to protect Kodos,’ he replied. His own voice sounded muggy and far away. ‘Some surrendered to Starfleet, some were captured. Those that ended up in ‘Fleet custody are under life imprisonment. I wish- I wish that the dead ones had suffered more. I suffered. I still suffer.’  
  
‘Who have you told?’  
  
‘Apart from those who needed to know? You, and one other. I once went out with a girl who could drink me under the table, and one night I got absolutely off my face and started telling her about it all. She said that it couldn’t be true because I liked sex too much.’

  
Bones looked outraged, pale lips drawn back and teeth bared.  
  
‘How _dare_ she? Whether or not you enjoy sex doesn’t mean it didn’t happen? They _raped_ you, Jim.’  
  
Jim flinched at the long-forgotten word, all too salient in the night quiet of Medbay.  
  
‘Yeah. But, you know, even though the rumours about how many people I slept with were way exaggerated, I still enjoy sex. I learned that it didn’t have to be painful, that it could be good. Can you begrudge me that?’  
  
‘Of course not!’ Bones exploded, before he continued, more softly, ‘Of course not. I’m glad you enjoy it.’  
  
‘Not that I’ve been getting any recently,’ Jim snorted, sitting up.  
  
‘Savin’ it up for Spock?’ Bones teased. ‘You’ll get backed up.’  
  
‘Mmm, it’s not like my hand’s been getting any respite.’  
  
Again, Bones’ face twisted with disgust, but it was a mockery of what had come before.  
  
‘I did _not_ need to know that.’  
  
‘Don’t want to hear my latest fantasy about Spock then?’  
  
 _‘No.’_  
  
‘Well, we’re in a cave on Aridina V-’  
  
 _‘No!’_  
  
‘It’s pretty cold on Aridina V, you know, and he’s all cute and shivery with a green nose-’  
  
‘I swear to God, I will end you.’  
  
‘He mewls when I touch his ears.’  
  
Once again, Bones showed his magic powers as he conjured up a hypo from nowhere, finger pressed menacingly on the depressor. Jim stopped talking, and it was probably for the best, because his dick was showing a little too much interest.  
  
‘Jim!’  
  
Whoops.  
  
‘That’s _disgusting.’_  
  
‘Sorry, sorry, my overactive imagination does things. It’ll go down in a minute.’  
  
His long-suffering best friend put on the sour face that normally preceded a rant of epic proportions, but Jim intervened before it could come to that.  
  
‘Why didn’t you have a screaming fit at me?’ he blurted, feeling with relief his erection’s quiet surrender. ‘You’ve never cared before if Spock gets pissed off too.’  
  
Bones’ eyes flicked downwards quickly, then his posture relaxed.  
  
‘Don’t think I’m not pissed, ’cause I am. It was a damn fool idea, and, like most of your other damn fool ideas, nearly gave me a fucking coronary. But Spock was blatantly livid. I knew that he’d kick off about it – well, as much as a Vulcan can kick off – and that you would take it to heart because you’re disgustingly in love with him. Didn’t want to add to that.’  
  
‘Not disgusting,’ Jim muttered under his breath, earning him a snort.  
  
‘Yeah, you are, Jimmy. Kind of makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little,’ Bones drawled, before the amusement left his face all at once. ‘Seriously though, don’t do that again. If you need distracting, entertaining, babysitting, whatever, the call button is there, and we’ll get someone to you. If you need more persuasion than that, there’s always the option of letting Nurse Chapel be the one to liaise with Spock-’  
  
‘No!’ Jim scowled. There was no way he was letting Christine alone in a room with Spock every day, not when she looked at him the way Scotty looked at new parts that came in for the Enterprise.  
  
‘Well then, you’d best behave, hadn’t you?’  
  
Jim pouted, but then he remembered what trouble he’d caused everyone.  
  
‘Sorry, Bones,’ he muttered.  
  
‘Apology accepted. But you’re still kind of an asshole.’  
  
Jim shrugged, then yawned. The clock read 0637 when he glanced at it.  
  
‘Not surprised you’re tired with all your damn gallivanting,’ Bones huffed, gesturing vaguely at the bed as he stood and stretched. ‘Go back to sleep, infant.’  
  
‘I’ll try,’ Jim sighed, already stripping back down to his boxers in silent rebellion against the paper-thin hospital gown, wriggling about on the mattress as he tried to do so without standing up. Eventually, he managed it, and shuffled about until he was in a comfortable position, pulling the sheets up with his feet until he could reach them with his hands. Bones leant against the doorjamb and watched him.  
  
‘Want me to tuck you in?’ he teased, his lopsided smile enduring through Jim’s glare. ‘No? Right then, I guess I’ll see you later on today.’  
  
‘Yeah sure,’ Jim said absently, settling in with his hands behind his head. Bones dimmed the lights to ten percent, leaving enough of a dim glow that Jim didn’t feel like he was being suffocated by the darkness.  
  
‘G’night then. I’m sure Spock’ll be back here in a bit with his tail in between his legs.’  
  
Jim let out a humoured puff of air through his nose.  
  
‘Yeah, maybe,’ he replied, not believing it at all considering the fury with which he’d been confronted earlier. ‘Night, Bones. Hope you dream of bourbon.’  
  
Bones’ teeth shone white through the gloom.  
  
‘Hope you dream of the pointy-eared hobgoblin, kid. Go to sleep.’  
  
The doors whooshed open and closed behind him, and then Jim was alone. Thoroughly exhausted by his escapades, he rolled on his front as was his habit, shoving his hand beneath the pillow. He wished Spock was here to soothe him to sleep, but it looked like he was going under anyway, succumbing quickly to the heavy pull of his eyelids. The last thing he thought of was the way Spock’s heart felt against his hand, double time to his own pulse, the constant, rhythmic thrumming that lulled him to sleep.  
  
‘Mnghhh.’  
  
A shift, exposing him to cold air.  
  
‘Mmnoooo.’  
  
‘Peace, Jim.’  
  
He recognised that voice. He blinked away the fog of sleep, whining in displeasure as he did so, and yet curling into the body that was slotting alongside him. One questing hand found a pointed ear, and his finger skimmed the tip. He heard a hitching breath.  
  
‘Spock?’ he murmured, his mouth feeling like he’d been sucking on cotton wool.  
  
‘Yes.’  
  
He let his hand drop from Spock’s ear, whispering, ‘what’re you doin’ here?’  
  
Spock stiffened against him, but luckily, Jim recognised the warning signs for what they were and wiggled his arms and legs around him, limpet style.  
  
‘No, stay,’ he breathed, snuffling into his neck and inhaling the clean soap scent of his skin. ‘Don’t sleep good without you.’  
  
‘You don’t sleep _well_ without me,’ Spock corrected, relaxing back into the bed.  
  
‘Mmm, that.’  
  
He grinned against soft skin, practically lying on top of him. Spock didn’t seem to mind.  
  
‘Thought you weren’t coming back, s’all,’ he admitted quietly, skimming his nose across the underside of his jaw. The arms that had come around him in return flexed, pulling him closer, if that was possible.  
  
‘I will always come back to you. I am sorry, Jim.’  
  
‘It’s okay.’  
  
‘But-’  
  
Spock’s words were halted by Jim’s finger laying itself across his lips, the tip pressing lightly into the soft depression between them. Jim knew that if he pushed a little harder, then it would be inside that gorgeous mouth, and didn’t that make him shiver?  
  
‘It’s okay,’ he repeated softly. ‘I did something stupid. Maybe next time I do something stupid, try not to get so angry? I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.’  
  
For a second, he thought he felt a feather-light press of lips against his finger, a gentle almost-kiss, but then realised he must have imagined it. Reluctantly, he let it slip away from Spock’s mouth, laying his hand to rest on Spock’s solid chest instead.  
  
‘I should at least have waited for an explanation. You said that Medbay reminded you of something. What was that?’  
  
Jim shivered, and shook his head.  
  
‘Tomorrow,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow, Spock. M’tired.’  
  
‘Very well,’ Spock returned, letting Jim come to rest mostly splayed across him. ‘Sleep well, Jim.’  
  
He was almost as tired as before, so it didn’t take long for sleep to drag him under, and this time, he didn’t have to imagine the heartbeat that pulsed strongly beneath his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a week early, guys - think of it as a Christmas present from me! It's maybe not the happiest chapter to give you, but it's what I've got. I hope you guys enjoy it, please feel free to check out my [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/), and I hope you have happy holidays, whether or not you celebrate Christmas!


	16. Wish Me Luck, The Same To You

As Jim slept in his embrace, draped over him like a second, infinitely preferable blanket, Spock wondered how close he had come to losing him today. The fear he had felt when he was informed that Jim was missing was comparable to that he had felt upon seeing him in the radiation chamber, visceral, stomach-clenching, desperate. He understood now that that was why he had been so very angry when Jim had been found and healed. Anger was a secondary emotion, rooted in the baser instincts that he repressed for the safety of the crew. He disliked that he had frightened Jim, but upon discovering that he was alive and conscious, if not well, his relief had naturally been eclipsed by a furious indignation over his flagrant stupidity. It was only when Jim had paled and cried out for him to stop that he had realised that his outburst had been unacceptable, driven partly by exhaustion, and partly by continuing frustration that a cure had not yet been found. His guilt had merely been exacerbated by Jim’s obvious distress in its wake, and his comprehension that there was a valid reason behind his exit from Medbay, even if he had to wait until the morning to hear it.

Jim made an unintelligible noise in his sleep and pulled him from his train of thought, fingers curling reflexively further into his undershirt. Overcome with affection, Spock combed his fingers through Jim’s tousled hair, those of his other hand drawing nonsense patterns on the softness of his back, leaving kisses in its wake. Occasionally, he felt the muscles move beneath Jim’s skin and shuddered with longing, wondering how they would feel shifting under his hands in the throes of passion, sweat-slick and powerful. There was a time in which he would not have allowed himself to wonder, but those days were long gone, along with his denial that he loved Jim, for he knew he did most ardently. However, much as he desired to act on his feelings, there were more important tasks to complete at the moment. These past days, he had worked tirelessly to attempt to synthesise a cure, going without rest, without adequate nutrition, and yet little had become of his hard work. Every time a potential solution was put forward, it either destroyed the remaining uninfected blood cells or was too weak to have an effect on the poisoning. He disliked that he was being forced to use such imprecise terminology, disliked that there was no precedent for Jim’s ambiguous illness, and while he had managed to snatch an hour earlier in the day to attempt to meditate, his mind remained uneasy, his control tenuous.

Jim snuffled and kicked his shin lightly, scrabbling to get into a more comfortable position before lying still. Spock couldn’t blame him entirely for his escapades, what with the as yet untold reasoning behind his discomfort, but also Spock’s own mistakes. He was aware that the Captain needed almost constant stimulation, unable to remain still and quiet for a few hours, let alone a few days. Leaving him with so little to do, and spending all of his time in the laboratory or on the Bridge, he should have expected some form of rebellion. Though he knew he had not the time to be occupying Jim in person, he could send him work and puzzles to complete, or let him go through what the Science ensigns would normally be doing. He had no doubt that Jim would understand it, intelligent as he was. As Jim shifted again, head coming to rest on his shoulder, Spock gave in to his helpless urge to kiss him on the temple, lips pressing and lingering there for a long moment. He was unsure whether he was thankful or dismayed that Jim did not react in any way. Despite his churning thoughts, with Jim cuddled warmly against his chest, he did not find it difficult to fall asleep.

The smell of food woke him, stomach cramping in want after his self-inflicted restriction. When he opened his eyes, intent on obtaining a meal, Jim was hovering over him, inches from his face. Spock could smell chilli on his breath.

‘I’ve been watching you sleep,’ Jim admitted, lips turned up at the corners. ‘Is that creepy?’

He had not moved from where he was suspended, so close that Spock was almost cross-eyed trying to watch his expression. His tongue flicked out across his lower lip. Spock tracked its movement with hungry eyes.

‘I do not mind,’ he said truthfully.

Jim smiled, and sat up, giving him room to do also. Thankfully, for the benefit of Spock’s concentration, he was now wearing trousers, but he wore no shirt, his muscles rippling deliciously as he moved. On his lap was a half-eaten plate of food, and another he passed from the bedside table to Spock.

‘Peri peri roasted vegetables?’ he offered, sticking a fork in a wedge of sweet potato. ‘It’s really nice and you’re too skinny.’

‘Thank you.’

‘’S’okay. I got chicken too but I didn’t think you’d want that.’

Spock raised an eyebrow in response, already preoccupied with getting as much food into his stomach as quickly as possible. Jim followed at a more sedate pace, watching him with a grin.

‘Hungry?’ he laughed.

Shamed, Spock slowed down, but Jim shook his head and placed a hand over his.

‘No, no, I’m glad. I worry about you.’

Jim’s hand moved to flatten over Spock’s stomach, and Spock felt his warmth seeping through the undershirt as blunt fingers shifted across skin-tight fabric.

‘See,’ Jim repeated softly, bright eyes boring into his. ‘Too skinny.’

‘If I made a remark about your weight, you would find it insulting,’ Spock sniffed.

Jim pulled his hand away, pouting. He poked at his own abdomen.

‘You saying I’m fat, Spock?’

‘Not at all, Captain,’ he teased. ‘Merely that occasional adherence to Doctor McCoy’s diet plan would perhaps be beneficial.’

Jim continued to sulk, grumpily stabbing at his chicken. Spock let out a gentle sigh, hand moving to brush Jim’s knee, which was ignored. He did not think that Jim was overweight, what with his defined abdominals and tight pectorals – he merely had a different bone structure to himself. Furthermore, if he was to be honest, he rather enjoyed seeing Jim put on weight, bringing a little softness to the hard lines of his body, signifying contentment rather than ill health. Vulcans rarely deviated from being tall and slim, and so it was a further exotic feature that brought pleasure to Spock, along with Jim’s golden hair and bright blue eyes.

‘I did not mean offence,’ he soothed, thumb passing back and forth across Jim’s patella. ‘That is, I did not mean that you are not aesthetically pleasing.’

Jim’s darkened expression cleared almost immediately.

‘That means you think I _am_ aesthetically pleasing! Oh Spock, do you think I’m pretty?’

He batted long eyelashes at him, one hand coming to rest dramatically over his heart. His empty plate was shoved back onto the bedside table. Spock suppressed a flush.

‘You know full well that you are attractive,’ he muttered, ignoring the heat coiling in his stomach as Jim lay seductively on his side.

‘Draw me like one of your French girls,’ Jim whispered, and when it became obvious that he did not understand, he laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Spock, you’re pretty too.’

He trailed the hand that was not cradling his head down Spock’s chest to his stomach. Spock could not help but push against it, muscles tensing and relaxing in correlation with its trajectory.

‘So very pretty,’ Jim repeated wistfully. His hand remained on Spock’s lower abdomen for a long moment, the tip of his thumb brushing the waistline of his pants. The touch was so close to being dangerous, and he jerked minutely as it came too close to the bare skin beneath, taking Jim’s hand in a gentle hold. It occurred to him that he had not yet asked for his reasoning behind the panic of the night before.

‘Jim,’ he began, his voice coming out rougher than expected. He cleared his throat as he was watched expectantly. ‘You were going to tell me what Medbay reminded you of.’

Jim froze, hand tightening reflexively on his own. Though the tight grip sent a bolt of arousal straight to his groin, he ignored it in favour of concentrating on Jim, whose easy posture had stiffened. His t’hy’la got up slowly, sitting cross-legged like a child, and took Spock’s hand into both of his.

‘I’ve only ever told Bones this,’ he whispered.

Spock knew he had no right to feel envy, but it burned in him anyway. He suppressed the feeling harshly, knowing that he should be happy that Jim was confiding in him at all. With that in mind, he waited for Jim to continue, staying as still as he could so as not to frighten him off.

‘When I was a kid, my mom sent me to Tarsus IV.’

Ah. As Jim looked up to gauge his expression, he must have caught a flicker of recognition, because he frowned, taking on an accusatory look.

‘You already know!’ he hissed, outrage and panic warring in his eyes. ‘How?’

Spock could not answer, because he realised that admitting he had invaded Jim’s dreams would likely be seen as a violation. As he sat there, speechless, Jim waited for entirely too long, then sighed in defeat.

‘Just tell me you didn’t manage to hack my files. I don’t care if you do it, but I don’t want anyone else finding out, okay?’

‘I did not,’ Spock rasped.

‘Good. You don’t have to tell me how you know, just-’

His breath caught mid-sentence, and his eyes dropped to their hands, a full-body shiver wracking him. He seemed unable to articulate what he wanted to express, but it did not matter, because Spock understood.

‘Nothing you say will leave this room,’ he reassured him.

Jim’s eyes lifted again. He continually tore at the delicate skin of his bottom lip with his teeth.

‘Thank you,’ he muttered around the death grip of his incisors. Spock reached out with his thumb to pull his lip out from underneath them, making no outward sign of the momentary short-circuit of his brain at the soft wetness that glided against his sensitive skin.

‘I will not allow you to do harm to yourself.’

Eyes wide, Jim let his mouth go slack, and when Spock removed his thumb, he did not attempt to return to his worrying.

‘I guess if you’ve read the reports or whatever, I don’t need to tell you what went on,’ Jim said softly, drawing one knee up and resting his chin on it. ‘It’s just that the doctors were pretty callous. Not the right people to have been trying to take care of traumatised kids, that’s all. I’ve hated hospitals ever since. They kept me isolated, kept us all isolated from one another when all we had known was one another for months.’

‘I imagine you did not take that lightly,’ Spock inferred when he paused. Jim shook his head, and to Spock’s pleasurable agony, began to play with his fingers, separating them out and running his thumbs up and down the undersides.

‘You know me,’ Jim smiled, bittersweet. ‘Of course I didn’t. Screamed and yelled and attacked anyone who came near me. I was feral, Spock, we all were. Instead of listening or letting us back together, they drugged us into compliance, and in the end, I just gave up. The therapist they eventually provided for me was horrified, and put an end to the sedation, but the kids had already been scattered.’

He pushed his thumbs harder against Spock’s fingers, blunt nails just scraping the skin, and Spock barely suppressed a whimper. His expression must have given something away though, because Jim let go with an expression of mortification.

‘I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!’

Spock let his hands drop, shaking, to the bedspread.

‘It is of no consequence,’ he gritted out, feigning neutrality. ‘Who were ‘the kids’?’

Jim, still watching him worriedly, answered, ‘I suppose you’ve heard of the Tarsus Nine before. That was us. Me and eight others, all younger, the only ones left alive who saw Kodos’ face. I looked after them as best I could when things went to shit, loved them as best I could…’

He trailed off, face drawn in despair. It was an expression that did not suit him. Spock did not speak, but shuffled closer, tentatively placing a still-sensitive hand on the knee that was not supporting his chin.

‘I mean, I was the closest thing to a parent they had,’ Jim continued in a whisper, closing his eyes. ‘The youngest ones called me Daddy, for fuck’s sake, and they still wouldn’t let us stay together. I know I was too young for custody, but still – I needed to know they were okay.’

‘I understand,’ Spock murmured. When he squeezed his knee lightly, Jim’s eyes opened, foggy with pain.

‘I’ve tried to keep track of them over the years, but it’s not always been easy. The younger ones are in high school, I know that. Gaia just started this year. Thomas is well on his way to becoming a research scientist, and Kevin – well – he’s in Starfleet!’

His expression lit up when he spoke of the children, pride replacing the misery that had previously been found there.

‘Indeed?’ Spock mused, glad for his sudden lifted spirits.

‘Yeah, he’s a lieutenant already at 23!’ Jim grinned, and his stiff posture relaxed, one hand falling to ghost over Spock’s own for a moment. ‘Thanks for listening to me, Spock. You didn’t have to.’

‘I wanted to,’ Spock admitted. ‘Nevertheless, I must return to the laboratory.’

‘Oh, okay.’

Jim seemed crestfallen by his declaration, but he nodded anyway, shifting backwards. In response, Spock trailed a hand over his arm, noting with curious satisfaction the goosebumps that rose beneath his touch, and the sudden peaking of Jim’s nipples.

‘I will return when I am able, and you may contact me at any point if you are in need. In the interim, I would advise that you perhaps should dress more warmly. It seems that you are cold, Captain.’

Jim flushed pink and pleasant, arms crossing over his chest.

‘Yeah, I-I’ll do that, Commander.’

‘Very good.’

Loathe as he was to leave him, Spock knew he must. With regret, he clasped his hands behind his back and exited the room, turning and nodding to him before the doors closed between them. Jim, looking surprisingly vulnerable, lay back down, and Spock hurried to return to his endeavour to save him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks had passed since Jim’s ill-advised escape from Medbay, and as Doctor McCoy so often griped, he was ‘climbing the walls’ in his private room. However, considering the obvious deterioration of his condition, Spock considered that statement to be inaccurate. While Jim may have complained, loudly and childishly, about his virtual imprisonment every time he entered the room, it was clear that he was weakening, his physical protests becoming less and less frequent. Spock attempted to return to him as often as possible, despite his burgeoning workload, but Jim seemed to be sleeping more often than not, whatever the hour. There were bruise-black circles permanently inked beneath his eyes, and his muscles tremored whenever he left the bed. Even more troubling was the fact that Doctor McCoy had been forced to increase Jim’s dosage of painkillers after Spock had found him curled in the foetal position on the bed, whimpering in agony, unable to reach the call button or his communicator. Outwardly, this deterioration did not seem to concern Jim, but Spock often noticed the aftermath of tears, even if he had not seen Jim cry since the day they had spoken of his temporary death. He, on the other hand, was permanently in a state of unease, his stomach knotted, rebelling, as if he had eaten something particularly unpleasant. Every time he was contacted by the Doctor, his heart seemed to seize in his side, and his hearing grew so sensitive that he could hear the blood pounding through his veins. Like now, for example. His communicator buzzed, and within a second, it was open in his level hand.

‘Is Jim well?’ he demanded.

 _‘He’s fine, calm down,’_ Doctor McCoy drawled. _‘Good news for once – Christine thinks she’s found something. You need to come down.’_

A sudden elation flooded through him, lungs filling, and drawing in more oxygen than they perhaps had in weeks. He dimly heard himself answer in the affirmative, and he walked out of Laboratory Two with little fanfare after securing his samples. He did not know whether it was his purposeful stride or his unwelcoming demeanour that made the inhabitants of the turbolift vacate it with such speed, but he was grateful either way. He nodded tightly, the corners of his lips trembling in micro-movements as his face tried simultaneously to express and repress his anticipation. The doors closed. He shut his eyes and exhaled at length as the lift passed each floor, attempting not to speculate. Only the day before, Doctor McCoy had told him, head in hand, that the situation was becoming that of palliative care. But the possibility that this was the end of the agony was too beguiling to ignore, and he allowed himself a moment of illogical daydreaming, a glimpse of Jim, healthy and recovered and _his._ When the lift settled, his eyes snapped back open, and he steered his mind back to reality. It was no time for fantasising. Not yet.

Medbay was buzzing with activity as he entered, as it so often was now. The average number of patients remained within normal levels, possibly even having decreased as they travelled slowly through a blank area of space towards the lone planet at the end of the system, but the medical staff worked ceaselessly in their attempt to cure Jim, as did he. Today, Doctor McCoy’s eyes were feverish with a kind of excitement when they met his across the room, and although he could not outwardly show his own similar feelings, Spock knew that the Doctor would be aware of them.

‘Spock!’ he called, the grin on his face slightly alarming in its intensity. ‘C’mere, look!’

He acceded to the request, weaving his way towards the small laboratory attached to the main room, ducking under Doctor McCoy’s arm to enter it. Within, Nurse Chapel and four ensigns from the medical staff surrounded a microscope, their enthusiastic words overlapping one another in their haste. The Doctor overtook him on the way, and the ensigns scattered hurriedly as he barrelled towards them, stabbing his finger at the glass sliver being studied.

‘Look, look at that. That could be our salvation.’

Emotive words, but not unexpected for someone of such a passionate nature. _‘Don’t be too hopeful, Doctor’_ he wanted to say, but how could he make that request when he was hopeful himself? There was a fluttering in his heart, a little lift of the weight that had settled on his chest in recent weeks, and he quashed the feeling harshly, fingernails biting into his thighs. McCoy gestured to the microscope, and Spock obediently bent and pressed his eye to the eyepiece, increasing the focus so that the blur of red sharpened into individual red and white blood cells, the infection evident from the cell death he saw. He watched as a particular cell darkened, its membrane bulging as it grew exponentially, larger and larger, until it ruptured. The sight made him flinch, though he had seen it before in his own research.

‘Now, watch this,’ Nurse Chapel said, and he could hear a smile in her voice as the edge of a pipette momentarily obscured the lens, then drew away after depositing an unknown droplet onto the sample. At first, there was nothing, and as he zoomed out, he saw cells continue to die, their bursting sending ripples through the plasma like stones skipped on the surface of a lake. Then, however, his preliminary disappointment evaporated. The rupturing slowed, the bulging cells regaining their natural formation, and within minutes, everything was as it should be.

‘See!’ McCoy crowed as he removed himself, dazed, from the microscope. He had pressed himself so hard into the eyepiece that there was a throbbing in the skin that had come into contact with it. ‘It’s a goddamn miracle!’

‘Not a miracle, Doctor,’ he corrected. ‘Hard work. Well done, Nurse Chapel. This may very well be what we need.’

Chapel flushed pink under his approving gaze, and inclined her head.

‘What kind of nurse would I be if I didn’t try to save lives?’

‘Christine, your next shore leave is on me,’ Doctor McCoy grinned, a pleasant expression having remained on his face for the longest Spock had ever seen.

‘I’ll hold you to that, Leonard.’

‘What must now be done?’ Spock asked, eager to put aside pleasantries, as urgency was creeping up on him again. ‘Can this be administered to Jim now?’

‘Christ, Spock, I need to screen it first,’ Doctor McCoy grouched, although his face had not quite lost its agreeableness.

‘How long will that take?’

‘A few hours, give or take.’

Spock nodded, suppressing the thought that a few hours may well be too long.

‘I will return to my duties. When the serum is ready, please contact me, Doctor.’

‘Leonard.’

Spock had already turned to leave, but the Doctor’s unexpected proclamation stopped him in his tracks. He turned back to face him, head tilted in question.

‘Call me Leonard,’ McCoy – Leonard – clarified, an angry red creeping up his neck as he spoke.

Spock considered. There was no logical reason not to assent to his request. Just as Leonard’s mouth opened once more – presumably to retract his statement considering the increasing ire in his expression, Spock cut him off – ‘Very well, Leonard. I shall be on the Bridge if you are in need of me.’

He turned on his heel once more, ignoring the vaguely angry muttering that followed, and set off for his aforementioned destination. The corners of his lips were curling up without his permission, and though nobody was in the corridor to see him, he forced them back into a neutral position out of habit, failing spectacularly at forcing down the accompanying emotions. If this serum succeeded in its purpose, Jim would _live._ He was dizzy with relief, weightless almost, and the dim nausea that had manifested itself in the pit of his stomach was gone, along with the pervading sense of dread that had haunted him daily. He should not get ahead of himself. He _must_ not. It may not work. But hope, that most dangerous of emotions, had already taken hold.

He entered the Bridge to the obvious surprise of its inhabitants. It was not his scheduled shift, nor Jim’s, but he had been spending so much time in the laboratories that he deemed it necessary to compensate for his absence while he had the opportunity.

‘Commander on ze Bridge!’ Ensign Chekov exclaimed as he took the Chair, and was immediately accosted by a yeoman bearing a number of padds.

‘I have a few reports for you to sign off, sir,’ she explained, juggling them with evident difficulty. He took them from her all together, handing them back one by one as he went to be placed in an orderly pile. Jim would have signed them slowly, distracted by the viewscreen or Chekov’s hair or a communication from Leonard, and the yeoman would have been exasperated, but indulgent, as would Spock. His absence left a vacuum, close as he may have been. Chekov repeatedly glanced back at him, a question in his eyes, if not on his lips, but Spock could not answer his queries here. He was aware that the Captain’s health had become a case of Chinese whispers, leaking and twisting as each new crewmember heard the tale, until it was unrecognisable. At least Lieutenant Uhura had been the one to inform the Bridge crew, who remained relatively up to date on matters, and accurate in their knowledge.

‘Lieutenant Darwin, what is our estimated schedule for arrival at the planetary body?’

‘At this speed, we have an estimated arrival time of 1800 hours.’

‘Lieutenant Zafra, initiate scanning procedure when in range,’ he ordered, her affirmative reply lost to him in his realisation that their arrival would likely coincide with Jim’s treatment. If the planet was considered safe to beam down to, he would have to be in the landing party, regardless of his personal preferences. Without Jim by his side, his outlook on the situation was predictably dimmer, however, he could not deny his interest in collecting fresh samples. Furthermore, if all went well, when he returned, Jim would still be there. If all went well, Jim would be cured.

The shift dragged, even as he caught up on two sets of duties, and he found himself glancing towards his other-occupied station on occasion, irrationally envious of Lieutenant Zafra. He understood now why Jim seemed so restless on the Bridge, wriggling in the Chair, leg bouncing up and down. When they were travelling through space with no discernible destination, it was to be expected that there were periods of calm, but Spock had grown used to constant activity, pinballing between Medbay, the laboratory, and the Bridge. It was natural that his body now expected movement, his muscles tense in anticipation.

_‘Spock?’_

He was on his feet before the click of the ‘k’.

‘Lieutenant Darwin, you have the conn,’ he called as he entered the turbolift. ‘Leonard?’

_‘We’re good to go down here. Want to come with me to tell Jim?’_

‘Naturally. I will arrive in Medbay in approximately three point five six minutes.’

He closed correspondence, frustrated at the gentle descent of the turbolift. The urgency that had pulled his muscles taut on the Bridge now settled in his stomach, a low thrum of discomforting tightness that wrenched as he moved, a very physical reminder of what was at stake. Having jogged down the empty corridor leading to Medbay, he outstripped his estimate by zero point four minutes, and met Leonard as he exited his office, a capped hypospray in hand.

‘Ready?’ he asked, his face lighter than it had been in the days before, worry lines shallower. It may well have been a rhetorical question, but Spock nodded regardless. Leonard clutched the hypospray so hard as they walked that he feared it may snap under the strain.

‘Doctor,’ he cautioned, gesturing to it. ‘Perhaps a little less force.’

Leonard looked down wide-eyed, as if he hadn’t even noticed his white-knuckled grip. His fingers loosened.

‘This could be it, Spock. This could be the _cure.’_

They had reached Jim’s temporary door, and Spock paused for a moment before he pressed the release.

‘Perhaps,’ he murmured. Inside, the room was dim, but there was enough light that distinct shapes were visible, just as Jim preferred it. His sharp ears focused on the breathing of the figure slumped across the bed, slow and deep and even in undisturbed sleep. This might have been reassuring at any other time, but the fact that Jim had already slept through the night just a few hours before made his mouth tighten in worry.

‘Lights to 100 per cent,’ Leonard called, and Spock’s pupils constricted almost painfully at the ensuing brightness. Ominously, Jim did not stir, half-tangled in the sheets. ‘Wanna wake him up for me?’

He approached the bed and bent over Jim, breathing in the warmth he emitted. His hair was tousled from his tossing and turning, sticking up at odd angles, and Spock could not help but smooth it down, sifting through each cowlick until they lay flat. His fingers then trailed down the side of Jim’s face. He sighed as sensitive nerve clusters were stimulated by the barely visible stubble near his jawline.

‘Still in the room, ya lovesick bastard.’

He ignored Leonard, and slid his hand down to Jim’s shoulder, shaking gently.

‘Jim,’ he murmured, shaking a little harder, until there was a soft moan, and long eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks.

‘Mmm, Spock?’

Jim was beautiful in waking, sleepy blue eyes blinking up at him, plush lips curving up into a soft smile. Without thought, Spock pressed two fingers against his cheek, then snatched them quickly away as he realised what he was doing.

‘We have something for you, Jim,’ he explained, gesturing to Leonard, whose face displayed only feigned disgust. ‘Leonard thinks we have something that may help you.’

‘Really?’ Jim beamed, struggling, and failing to sit up. Spock took him underneath the arms and pulled him upright with little effort, adjusting the pillows behind him so that they would take most of his weight. His joy was contagious, and he found himself forcing down his own smile, lips twitching with the effort.

‘Yeah, kid,’ Leonard replied, not bothering to hide his grin. ‘Christine’s found something that might fix what’s wrong with your blood.’

‘It has been synthesised into a serum that can be administered to you,’ Spock added.

‘Yeah?’

Jim’s confirming question was breathless and innocently hopeful, his eyes wide and sparkling with moisture. Although it was decidedly illogical to do so, Spock wished with all his might that the serum would work, that Jim would recover and that he would finally be able to declare what he felt for him. _Bondmate,_ his mind offered. _T’hy’la._ His heart throbbed with longing.

‘All we need is your permission, Jim,’ Leonard elucidated.

‘You’ve got it,’ Jim said immediately. ‘Of course you have.’

His eyes alighted on Spock.

‘Stay with me?’ he asked, his hand making to reach out for him, then falling into his lap. ‘I-I mean, unless you’ve got to go back to-’

‘I will stay,’ Spock assured him, moving hastily out of Leonard’s way as he rummaged in a nearby drawer. He settled in the chair by the bed after making sure he would not be obstructing, and took Jim’s hand as it filtered through the newly-raised bars of the bed. Surface emotions, primarily anticipation and fear, passed into him, and he did his best to transmit calm, despite the fact that his own roiling emotions were battering against his shields.

‘Just gonna be the same as any other shot, kid,’ Leonard muttered, taking Jim’s arm in a gentle grip and passing an alcohol wipe over the area which was to be pierced. ‘Nothin’ to worry about.’

Jim remained tense, and he flinched as the needle went in, his fingers tightening briefly against Spock’s, who twitched at the sensation. The needle withdrew, and Leonard pressed a pad against the blood that had welled up.

‘Hold that,’ he told Jim. ‘You’d cry like a baby if I put tape on and it ripped out your arm hair.’

It was not as though Spock had expected a momentous, immediate change, but he still couldn’t help but look expectantly at Jim, who had reluctantly let go of his hand to hold the pad. Jim shrugged in response to his unasked question, mouth opening to speak, but then Spock’s communicator buzzed.

 _‘Sir, we’re receiving a hailing,’_ came Ensign Trammler’s excitable voice.

Spock exchanged a significant look with Jim, who struggled to get up. He pushed him back down again with one hand and replied, ‘Answer the call, Ensign, and I will come to the Bridge. Please do try to avoid any galactic incidents in the meantime.’

_‘Yes, sir.’_

He clicked the communicator shut and turned back to Jim, who bucked up under his hand, eyes blazing.

‘I’ve got to go, Spock – I’m the Captain!’

‘I know your status very well, but you are in no fit state to be leaving Medbay,’ Spock countered, pressing harder as he resisted, but not hard enough to hurt him. Jim continued to struggle, letting out a sound of frustration that was almost a sob as he began to weaken, the blood-stained pad fluttering to the floor as his hands clenched in fists. Spock hated to hurt him, hated to leave him in this state, but he knew he must.

‘He’s right, sugar,’ Leonard crooned, taking over as Spock began to slip away. ‘You know that.’

Jim turned his face away stubbornly, eyes scrunched shut. Though he was no longer trying to get off the bed, Spock recognised that it was passive resistance more than agreeable acquiescence, and felt regret.

‘I will return when I am able,’ he promised, but Jim did not budge, and so, with a heavy heart, he left Medbay for the Bridge. His journey was no less urgent than on the way down, eager to discover the nature of the species that had contacted the ship. When he entered the Bridge, a silver-skinned creature of indeterminate age and gender was on the viewscreen, two eyes to the periphery of the face affording monocular vision, and a third in the centre of the forehead. There was no visible nose, but the mouth and other facial features seemed humanoid in origin. As he took the chair, Spock looked to Nyota, who had taken the place of Ensign Trammler.

‘The universal translator is starting to work, just give it a moment.’

The humanoid’s mouth opened and emitted a stream of light, airy sounds, almost like breathy whistles, and a few seconds later, the translation came through.

‘We are known as Aerlan. Our planet is Aera. We have watched you traverse the system, and have concluded that you have peaceful intentions. Is this correct?’

‘It is,’ Spock replied, and heard his voice transformed into the whistling speech of the Aerlans. ‘We are representatives of Starfleet, and organisation belonging to the United Federation of Planets, and we are explorers.’

‘We have never seen your kind before. What is your name?’

‘I am Commander Spock of the U.S.S Enterprise. You have never seen our kind before because we have never ventured this far through space. As I said, we are explorers.’

‘ _‘Commander’_ Spock,’ the Aerlan chirruped. ‘Does your ship have no Captain?’

The question was an unexpected stab to the gut, but Spock did not let his face crumple as it ached to. He schooled his features from their micro-second lapse, and answered, ‘Our Captain is indisposed. I am the highest ranking officer available to speak with you.’

‘Very well. I am K’thia, advisor to Queen Veya. Standby for further correspondence.’

The image on the viewscreen flickered off, and Spock turned to Nyota.

‘Send a message to Starfleet Command explaining our situation, and wait for orders,’ he commanded, itching to relay the situation to Jim in person, to ascertain his wellbeing.

As if she herself was telepathic, Nyota turned after her transmission and said, ‘Why don’t you go to the Captain, Commander? It may be hours before the next hailing.’

Spock, though he would not admit it, was only too happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, guys! I'm coming into the dreaded exam season, and with two jobs and music lessons, I've a lot going on, so it's iffy when the next chapter will be up. As always, I'll aim for two weeks, but don't get too excited. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and you can find me here at my [Tumblr!](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)
> 
> EDIT: seeing as it's exam week, i won't be able to get a chapter up tonight (19/01), but I'll hopefully get one up on Thursday or Friday!


	17. You Have Suffered Enough

He should never have got his hopes up. When Bones entered the room, face drawn, and somehow much older than it had been before, Jim knew that this serum, this ‘cure’ had failed. All that hope he had had, that blinding, beautiful spark that had ignited in him visions of a future with he and Spock and the Enterprise, fizzled out into nothing, leaving behind only a chasm of grief. Spock wasn’t there when Bones came back with his bloods – he was busy liaising with the Aerlans about joining the Federation. After first contact, he had showed Jim the holos that the viewscreen had automatically taken, and told him that if he had recovered enough, he would try to persuade Bones to let him beam down to the planet. Seems even Spock had hope.  
  
‘I’m sorry, kid,’ Bones whispered, guilt and pain all too evident on such an expressive face. ‘I shouldn’t have got you so hyped up about it.’  
  
‘No, its-’  
  
He wanted to say that it was fine, but he thought of how Spock always said that ‘fine’ had variable definitions, and the word stuck in his throat. It wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all.  
  
‘It’s not your fault,’ he settled on, voice as weak as his shaky limbs felt.  
  
‘We’ll keep trying, Jim. It worked for a while, but then the effects wore off. We just need a little more time to strengthen the formula.’  
  
Jim let out a mere whisper of a laugh, before the corners of his mouth tugged down sourly.  
  
‘You know, I always thought I’d die alone,’ he whispered. ‘Always thought that no matter what, if you guys were with me, I’d be okay. But I guess I died alone in the warp core, and the second time round, anything goes.’  
  
Bones made a soft sound of pain at his admission, and growled, ‘Don’t talk like that. I’m gonna fix you, like I always do.’  
  
Jim’s answering smile was sad and tremulous, more bitter than sweet.  
  
‘Even you can’t perform miracles.’  
  
‘I’m gonna damn well try,’ Bones snarled, jaw setting. If only it were a matter of determination. Jim adjusted himself on the bed, trembling arms complaining under the strain. ‘And you know Spock will too.’  
  
‘Does he know?’ he whispered.  
  
‘Do you think he’d be on the Bridge if he did?’  
  
Jim swallowed thickly. Spock was his friend, much as he wanted him to be more than that, but the ship had to come first. Duty had to come first.  
  
‘I want to tell him,’ he confessed, ‘but I don’t want to interrupt him if he’s talking to the Aerlans. The brass are desperate for them to join the Federation.’  
  
‘Well that’s easily solved,’ Bones grumbled, taking his padd from the foot of the bed and tapping out what Jim assumed was a message.  
  
‘What are you doing? He’ll get suspicious if you just ask him!’  
  
Bones snorted in disgust.  
  
‘I’m a doctor, not an imbecile! I asked Uhura, and-’ the padd bleeped. ‘Yep, nothing’s goin’ on upstairs. I’ll ask him to pop down.’  
  
Jim nodded wearily, letting himself drop back into the pillows as his arms gave out from under him. He was exhausted, as per usual, the tempting pull of sleep becoming almost nauseous as he fought against it, eyes stinging in the light. Without a word from him, Bones dimmed them back to manageable levels, and he smiled in his general direction, unable to keep himself awake and alert any longer. Murmuring an apology to Bones, which was softly rebuffed, he drifted, his bone-deep fatigue lingering despite almost constant rest. Eventually though, he heard faultless, certain footsteps in the corridor, and he knew that it was Spock. He’d been so cold these past days, but seeing him always injected a little warmth into his shivering heart, a burning love that never faltered, never failed. As the doors opened, Jim forced his eyes to also, trying and failing to force a smile. Spock’s all-seeing eyes bored into him like interrogation beams, missing nothing.  
  
‘The serum was ineffective,’ Spock said raggedly, voice cracking at the end in a way that Jim had never heard it do before, and he could not help the explosive sob that burst from the recesses of his lungs, unexpected in its volume. In seconds, Spock was by his side, reaching for him. Grief and desperation and something like guilt passed through those very human eyes on a loop, his face open like outside the radiation chamber, his face open like this was it, and it made Jim cry all the harder, hating himself for his hysteria.  
  
‘Hey, shh, shh, shh,’ Bones cooed as Spock floundered, a hypo depressing gently against his neck and taking the edge off for a moment, a pleasant undercurrent that hummed beneath his skin. The tears lost their frenzied edge but didn’t stop, each shuddering release of breath making his upper body rise from the bed in uneven increments. Spock touched him then, cool hands finding one of his and holding like an anchor, keeping him steady.  
  
‘This is not failure,’ he insisted, and Jim tried to trust him, but his eyes said otherwise. Jim curled his fingers around one of those anchoring hands, and pain that wasn’t all his passed between them, quick as lightning. Spock jolted as if he had been struck, and a little wrinkle insinuated itself between his eyebrows. It didn’t happen again.  
  
‘What is being done?’ he asked Bones, at this point a silent witness to their shared grief. ‘What was the problem with the serum?’  
  
‘It didn’t last, Spock. It worked, but it didn’t last.’  
  
‘Then we must make it last,’ Spock said fiercely, rocking forwards with the force of his words. His voice was threaded through with determination, and though it hadn’t quite won over Jim yet, Spock’s certainty began to chip away at his absolute sense of defeat. ‘I will go to the laboratory and work on the formula.’  
  
Jim dragged his fingertips against Spock’s palm in thanks, fascinated by the wracking shudder that ran through him as he did so. He was less fascinated when his hand was placed back on the bed though, spots of colour high on Spock’s cheekbones.  
  
‘I will go,’ Spock breathed, but he didn’t move from Jim’s side.  
  
‘The samples have already been sent through, Spock. We’ve got everyone available working down here, I need you to do the same up there.’  
  
‘Of course, Doctor,’ Spock agreed, his padd already out. He tapped away at the screen, then turned back to Jim. ‘If you are in need of me, I will have my communicator.’  
  
Jim nodded mutely. Through his anguish, he still revelled in the soft look that was directed towards him, the gentle arc of Spock’s eyebrows before he began to back up.  
  
‘Wait!’ Jim’s eyes were aching again, his body screaming for sleep, and yet he knew he had to ask, ‘What about the Aerlans?’  
  
Spock’s face briefly showed surprise, as if he had forgotten that they existed, but he quickly regained his composure.  
  
‘They wish for me to beam down at 1100 hours tomorrow,’ he admitted, almost reluctant in his tone, and Jim knew why.  
  
‘You have to go, Spock,’ he said urgently, suppressing the rising tide of pain with a hand pressed into his stomach. ‘No matter what.’  
  
He meant it too – better the Aerlans join the Federation than the Romulan Star Empire, or, God forbid, the _Klingons._ Spock looked as if he might argue at first, yet though there was an almost imperceptible frown creasing his brow, though his lips drew into a thin, pale line, eventually, reluctantly, he nodded. Jim forced a brittle, unconvincing smile.  
  
‘No matter what,’ he repeated, humming to cover a moan of pain as his stomach spasmed. ‘I’ll… I’ll call you if I need you.’  
  
With one final, lingering glance, Spock walked backwards to the door, as if to keep Jim in his sight for as long as possible, then left. Jim heard his retreating footsteps rap against the floor with ever increasing speed, until they hammered off into the distance. Spock was running. Holy hell, Spock was running. He had no time to ruminate on how fucked that meant he was, however, because the agony clutching at his stomach could no longer be ignored, and he began to rock back and forth like a child on the bed, whimpering as he went.  
  
‘Jesus, Jim, what’s the matter?’  
  
Bones rushed forwards, fumbling with his tricorder. Jim snaked one hand clumsily upwards to grip at his arm, hearing the blip of the heart monitor ramp up along with his hyperventilation.  
  
‘’urts,’ he croaked, and leant into the approaching hypo as eagerly as he would his first sip of water in an arid desert. He welcomed the sharp push of the needle, knowing that the brief pain would soon yield to blessed relief. It did. The rush of liberation from the pain forced a pleasured sigh from him, and on the next inhale, his lungs expanded to their full capacity, no longer hindered by the pressure of panic. Bones leant over him as he wallowed in this new freedom, eyes concerned to the point of crazy surveying every inch of him with clinical precision.  
  
‘I won’t be able to give you much more,’ he frowned, pulling Jim’s lower eyelid down in a vaguely uncomfortable motion. ‘You’re well over the recommended dosage, and too much’ll put too much strain on your heart. But I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’  
  
Jim nodded as the haze cleared. It was unwelcome news, but not unexpected. He prayed that Spock and the others would make a breakthrough before it came to that. In lieu of speaking, he watched Bones potter around the room, tinkering with the tricorder and his padd and the IV, fidgeting like he always did when he was rattled. Jim couldn’t help but smile fondly, feeling like an old man as he shuffled into a sitting position, slowly, slowly. Much as he had been avoiding it, he knew it was time for a conversation he had lost out on down in the warp core. Lying in this room for hours on end had allowed him ample time to think about the end that might come, the people he might be leaving behind. Detachment was hard to come by, what with the icy fear that ran through his veins along with the poison, but he didn’t want to spend the entirety of the time he had left in tears.  
  
‘Bones?’ he started, grabbing the doctor’s attention from where he was needlessly rearranging the filing cabinet in the corner. ‘C’mere for a minute, will you?’  
  
He gestured to the bed, and Bones came to sit on the end of it, face shadowed. Jim was no less grim, feeling a little like he was on the edge of a precipice, but he needed to get this out.  
  
‘You know… no matter what happens, it’s not your fault, right?’  
  
Bones’ face crumpled, his eyes becoming watery.  
  
‘I should have noticed earlier, Jim. I should have examined you earlier, worked harder in the first stages,’ he choked, blinking hard against the threat of tears.  
  
‘No, no,’ Jim soothed. ‘No, you couldn’t be expected to watch me 24/7. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine for not coming to you earlier. You’ve saved my life countless times, pulled me back from the edge when, admittedly, I’ve sometimes tried to throw myself over it. You’ve done your best, Bonesy, and I’ve not made it easy for you.’  
  
One fat tear trickled down the side of Bones’ cheek, quickly followed by a slew of others, and he scrubbed at his face impatiently.  
  
‘You’re not dyin’, Jim,’ he insisted, voice low and rough with emotion. ‘I won’t let you.’  
  
Jim snorted.  
  
‘That’s not exactly logical.’  
  
‘Jesus H. Christ, you’ve been spending too much time with the hobgoblin.’  
  
 _Spock._ Jim ached to be with him, always. He raised his gaze from his lap back up to Bones, who wore a sympathetic half-smile.  
  
‘You’re my best friend, Bones,’ he said sincerely, struggling to lay a trembling hand on his knee. ‘I think you were the first true friend I ever had, and I love you like a brother. Spock though…’  
  
He trailed off, his own melancholy smile surfacing.  
  
‘I love him like I’ve never loved anything before. I burn for him, in here.’  
  
He gestured to his chest, and Bones sniggered, ‘Maybe that’s just indigestion.’  
  
Jim laughed properly this time, the soberness taking longer to return.  
  
‘You know what I mean, douchebag. I’m just worried what’ll happen to him when I’m gone. What’ll happen to you.’  
  
Bones shook his head stubbornly.  
  
‘You ain’t goin’ nowhere, kid. I’m tellin’ you, Spock’ll find something in time.’  
  
‘You don’t know that,’ Jim whispered. Bones said nothing, only fixed him with a pointed stare, and he lay back down, taking the pressure off his weakened muscles. ‘C’mere, you.’  
  
He held out his arms, and after a second of apparent indecision, Bones crawled into them. He pressed his face into Jim’s neck, and if Jim felt a sudden wetness there, he didn’t say anything. The perpetual weariness had become unbearable, and he fell asleep again with his best friend beside him, wishing, wishing, wishing on every shooting star in the galaxy that his clever Vulcan would find something, that he would live.  
  
‘-ose blankets. C’mon, Jimmy, you’re burnin’ up.’  
  
The auditory blur that hit his ears as he woke was unintelligible for a moment, eclipsed by his preoccupation with the unbearable cold of the room – and someone was trying to take his covers off him. He whined, tugging weakly at them before they were ripped away. Why would they do that to him? He felt like he was going to freeze to death, wracked with shivers that rattled their way up his spine and out, and he curled up on his side in a vain attempt to conserve heat.  
  
‘Oh no you don’t,’ he heard Bones growl, then there was something intolerably frigid placed on his forehead, wedged into the non-existent gap between the back of his thighs and knees, and pressed into his stomach. He cried out in protest, trying to flinch away, but there was nowhere to go.  
  
‘Jim, _Jim,_ listen to me!’ Bones shook his arm until his eyes cracked open into narrow slits, focusing vaguely on the white and blue blur in front of him. ‘You’ve got a fever, kid. No matter how cold you feel, you’re actually fucking boiling, alright?’  
  
Jim’s head swam. He could hear what was being said, but he couldn’t process it, painful shivers forcing him up and down as if the bed was actually vibrating.  
  
‘C-cold,’ he insisted, reaching pathetically for the blankets.  
  
‘Sorry, Jim.’  
  
Jim groaned in pain as his muscles went into spasm, feeling a brief sense of relief as the icy pads fell away, but they were replaced in a flash, and he kicked out like a child, his foot pinned back to the bed.  
  
‘If he doesn’t improve soon, we’re gonna have to give him an ice bath,’ Bones muttered, but Jim was no longer paying him any attention, because someone very important had just entered the room.  
  
‘Spock!’ he called joyously, revelling in the tiny not-smile that was especially for him. ‘Spock.’  
  
Syrupy affection infused his voice as Spock approached, hand held out in front of him, and Jim held his out in response.  
  
‘Honey, Spock’s not here,’ he heard Christine say dimly, but he waved her away, ignoring her in favour of watching the man he loved come to him. _‘I love you,’_ Spock mouthed, gorgeous dark eyes warm and affectionate, and Jim drew in a shuddering breath as his heart lit up with joy, beaming at him with tears welling up, so wonderfully, spectacularly ha-  
  
His hand met thin air instead of the cool Vulcan skin he was expecting. He swiped once, twice, three times, hoping that he’d just missed, but no. No. What he had thought was Spock began to dissolve into nothingness, and he let out a ragged sound of defeat, of anguish, as he realised that he had imagined it all. Warm, strong hands guided him back to the bed as a trickle of sweat made its winding way down his forehead, shuddering with cold as he was, and he met Bones’ worried eyes with his own agonised gaze.  
  
‘I’m sorry, Jim,’ he murmured, pressing yet another hypo into his neck. ‘Sleep now.’  
  
The familiar, cloying wave of drowsiness fell over him like his very own blanket, and with the pain in his stomach, and the confusion in his mind, and the misery in his heart, for once, he was glad to fall back into the soothing arms of unconsciousness.  
  
The next time he woke was to the brutal sting of the overhead lights, turned up to the max for some unknown, godawful reason, and he moaned in protest, pulling his leaden arm up to rest over his eyes.  
  
‘Sorry, Keptin!’ he heard, young and panicked – Chekov.  
  
‘Dammit, kid, are you tryin’ to blind him?’  
  
The lights dimmed to a more bearable level as Chekov apologised over and over in the background, and Jim let his arm slide off his face, landing with a heavy _whoomph_ on the bed. Still-sensitive eyes tentatively opened, and settled on his curmudgeonly doctor.  
  
‘Hey, Bones,’ he greeted, sounding like a teenage boy whose voice was just breaking. When he attempted to clear his throat, the convulsive movement sent him into a coughing fit so rough that he thought he might hack up his spleen. He eventually surfaced, eyes watering, and wiped the wetness from his lips, unsurprised to find a glossy smear of blood on his hand. That same hand was taken by Bones and scrubbed with an alcohol wipe which left a cool almost-sting behind it.  
  
‘Thanks,’ Jim muttered, making eye contact with Chekov, then Sulu, whom he hadn’t noticed before, forcing a smile. Chekov beamed back at him, his frantic worry constrained to his darting gaze, but Sulu was more restrained, his expression sober and knowing. Jim swallowed, his sore throat protesting the movement, and looked back up at Bones. ‘What happened last night?’  
  
‘I suppose you gathered that you had a fever – and you made it as difficult as possible for us, you recalcitrant brat!’ Bones complained, running his tricorder over Jim in a familiar winding arc. ‘It was pretty bad. At one point, your temperature was almost 106! But it broke around five, thank God.’  
  
Infinitely thankful that he didn’t mention his embarrassing hallucinations, Jim asked, ‘What time is it now?’  
  
‘It is 0652, Keptin!’ Chekov chirped, and he turned his attention to him and Sulu, gesturing them forward from where they hovered near the doorway. With a raise of his eyebrows, Bones slipped out of the door.  
  
‘You guys are up for Alpha early.’  
  
‘We wanted to see you before we went,’ Sulu explained quietly. ‘We haven’t come nearly often enough.’  
  
For some reason, the finality in his tone made Jim’s throat constrict, his heart beating a little faster, but he made himself let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head.  
  
‘You guys aren’t obligated to do anything, alright?’ he said softly.  
  
‘But we wanted to!’ Chekov insisted, rising up onto his toes in his eagerness. Jim smiled more genuinely now, ignoring the twisting ache inside as best he could as he surveyed his navigators with pride. Chekov, while still the baby genius of the ship, was slowly growing out of his boyishness. At twenty, he was just about growing into his limbs, the softness of his features settling into harder lines, and although Jim found it hard to resist playing with his hair every time he saw him, it was getting harder to do so, as a final growth spurt had sent him shooting up in height. No longer a child, but not quite an adult, Jim mused. Sulu, however, was most definitely a man. Hard-working, dependable, and fiercely protective of Chekov, he had rallied around Jim from the very beginning, when he had needed help most. And holy shit, he was an awesome fencer. Jim thought he might still have the bruises from their last play in the gym, a whip-like epée cracking into tender skin three dozen times over. He knew he wouldn’t have to worry about Chekov when… afterwards, because Sulu would look after him, simple as. The man was definitely destined for command. Jim beckoned them forward.  
  
‘Why don’t you sit down for a bit?’ he smiled. ‘One of you’ll have to sit on the end of the bed, sorry.’  
  
Chekov scampered into the chair and grinned smugly at Sulu, who rolled his eyes and took his place on the bed.  
  
‘Tell me about the Aerlans,’ Jim suggested, leaning back and resting a hand on his aching stomach, the other clutching his thigh under the covers and squeezing when each rolling wave of pain crested. Chekov brightened, babbling on about what they had found out about their culture and practices, their languages and customs, and when his words petered out, Sulu took over. Jim tried to listen, but found that he was taking in more of their movements than their words, committing to memory their expressions and gestures, wondering whether this would be the last time he would see them. His stomach lurched accordingly, and he pushed on it harder, and harder, until he knew there would be bruising there as a reminder. It seemed like no time at all before Sulu began glancing at his padd, and Jim checked the time himself.  
  
‘Shit. I haven’t given you guys time for breakfast.’  
  
‘It doesn’t matter, Keptin,’ Chekov chirruped. ‘We would rather see you than have breakfast.’  
  
Jim beamed through his pain, touched by the obvious affection he was regarded with.  
  
‘Thanks, Chekov. Hey, if you want, you can take food up to the Bridge,’ he offered as they got up. ‘Special dispensation from El Capitán.’  
  
‘Thanks, Captain.’  
  
‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ Chekov echoed. ‘Get better soon, Keptin.’  
  
Jim didn’t miss the way his arm slipped around Chekov as they left, gentle and protective, and his heart warmed to see them happy together. They would be just fine, he knew it. With the pulsing pain in his stomach only increasing, and a disquieting ache in his temples appearing alongside, Jim closed his eyes for a few weary moments, willing away the burn. If it was just a matter of his asserting his formidable willpower, he was sure that the illness would never have metastasised in the first place. But it wasn’t, and it did, and _fuck,_ he was exhausted again. No time for sleep now, though, because there was a tentative knock on the door, the tap of the back of upturned knuckles maybe, and he calls a tired, ‘Yeah?’  
  
‘Jim,’ Nyota said, eyes bright with something that definitely wasn’t happiness. On any other occasion, Jim would have been delighted to see her, but it was clear that her arrival after Chekov and Sulu wasn’t a coincidence. The Bridge crew were visiting in rotation, and Jim swallowed down the vicious, paralysing fear that surfaced with her appearance, tearful and subdued, as if she knew this was his deathbed.  
  
‘Hey,’ he smiled, forced and unconvincing. ‘You alright?’  
  
‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’  
  
She came further into the room, the doors hissing shut behind her, and perched on the end of the bed rather than on the chair. The mattress barely dipped beneath her negligible weight, delicate hands that held a deceptive strength entwining in her lap.  
  
‘Maybe,’ Jim shrugged. ‘But I’m more interested in what you’ve got to say, to be honest. I hear myself talk all the time.’  
  
A smile flitted across her face, a glimpse of sunshine before shadows took over again.  
  
‘I’m okay. Feeling a bit like Monty’s having an affair with me while married to the ship, but that’s a constant, I guess.’  
  
She rolled her eyes, her stiff posture relaxing a little.  
  
‘He’s great though, can’t complain otherwise.’  
  
‘Oh yeah?’ Jim grinned, lascivious despite his turmoil. ‘You two, uh-’  
  
He waggled his eyebrows in place of a hip thrust he wasn’t sure he could manage, enduring Nyota’s softer-than-usual smack to his leg as he revelled in the flush on her high cheekbones.  
  
‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ she said primly, ‘but yes, we have.’  
  
‘Good?’  
  
She nodded, eyes fixed on the sheets where she was picking at a loose thread, but she couldn’t hide a little smile, a smile which Jim was glad to see.  
  
‘Scotty is a lucky man,’ he rasped, swallowing against the aching dryness that never seemed to disappear, no matter how much water he drank. ‘Take care of one another, will you?’  
  
Nyota’s eyes flicked up to his, and for a long, awful moment, Jim thought that she was going to cry, but then she swallowed, and the threatening moisture became a mere shimmer.  
  
‘Aye, Captain,’ she agreed shakily.  
  
There came another knock, heavier this time, and when the doors opened, by coincidence or by eavesdropping, there was Scotty, grim, but carrying a bottle of scotch.  
  
‘Drinking at…’ Jim checked the time, ‘… 0815, Scotty? Starting a bit early, aren’t we?’  
  
‘Unfortunately, sir, this isn’t for me.’  
  
Jim frowned, in confusion rather than condemnation. But then Scotty handed the bottle over, already conveniently open, and he obediently took a swig. It burned down his throat, leaving a pleasant kind of numbness behind, and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, ignoring Nyota’s quiet tut of disapproval.  
  
‘Thanks,’ he murmured, handing the bottle back and closing his eyes as he savoured the soothing relief from soreness. ‘So what’s going on downstairs?’  
  
They talked for a while, perhaps half an hour, perhaps forty five minutes – Jim didn’t check – but then Nyota was called to the Bridge to prepare the Universal Translators, and Scotty’s call to Engineering wasn’t far behind.  
  
‘Bloody imbeciles,’ he growled, slamming the whisky down. ‘If Jónsdóttir and Raja have damaged my Lady, I’ll have their guts for garters.’  
  
Jim snorted softly.  
  
‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do… I know that list is pretty limited. Anyway, I’ll see you later, yeah?’  
  
He was unconvincing, and he knew it by the way that Scotty’s face tightened before he nodded. Still, the show must go on. The ship, thank God, would continue to function without him, even if he hated to go. His Chief Engineer saluted as he left, a real respect in his eyes that made Jim’s heart clench. Those two would be just fine too. He gave into the urge to check the chrono again – 0857. Two hours until Spock would take the lead in liaising with an entirely new species, something that would be more exciting if the twisting pain inside him hadn’t just ramped up from uncomfortable to unbearable. He jabbed at the call button, and Nurse Chapel came rushing in a minute later. As soon as she clocked his screwed-up expression, she pulled a hypospray from her pocket, flicked the cap off and jabbed him in the neck, the sweet relief of the drug cocktail sweeping through him.  
  
‘I’m sorry, Captain,’ Chapel frowned, messing with his pillow, ‘but that’s the highest dosage we can give to you. Anything more you’re going to put up with, I’m afraid.’  
  
Jim nodded distractedly, the previous agony feeling so far away from the cloud of bliss he was floating on.  
  
‘Where’s Bones?’  
  
‘He’s helping Commander Spock in the labs. You’re stuck with us for a few hours, I’m afraid.’  
  
‘That’s not a bad thing, Christine,’ Jim winked, undaunted by the fact that his charm probably wasn’t 100% effective right now. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, hesitating in the doorway.  
  
‘Would you like me to stay?’  
  
Jim shook his head.  
  
‘Thanks, Christine, but I’ve got some stuff to do,’ he murmured, wincing at the strange discomfort that lay beneath the masked pain, the feeling of _wrongness_ that permeated his falling apart body. Nurse Chapel nodded, fixing him with a penetrating stare that rivalled Bones’.  
  
‘If anything else happens, call me, okay?’  
  
‘Of course,’ Jim replied, already going for his padd. ‘Thanks.’  
  
He didn’t watch her leave, preoccupied with his own churning thoughts. If this was it – and _Christ,_ it felt like this was it – he couldn’t just slip away without telling his crew how awesome they were, how much he appreciated their loyalty, and hard work, and friendship. Pulling a writing program up, his fingers hovered over the keypad as he wondered how to start, helplessly cursing his inadequacy with words. Every speech he’d had to give after he’d gained his Captaincy, Spock had read through and checked over beforehand. This, he had to do on his own. He started with notes, scrubbing through what sounded too dry or too sappy on later reflection, and eventually, the words began to flow. When the urge to sleep came, as it so often did, he fought it. He could lose himself in sleep, he realised, lose himself in it and slip away as easy as breathing. He didn’t want to go easy, didn’t want to surrender, wanted to pin his eyelids open and battle for coherency ‘til the very last. Wanted to tell Spock he loved him, he thought. He had a fleeting, awful fantasy, in which Spock didn’t reciprocate, and he spent his last minutes trapped by an uncomfortable, clinical gaze, and then he thought that maybe it was better not to try.  
  
All too soon, a throbbing ache began in his head, rising like the tide, and by the time he signed the letter off with shaking hands, he was barely holding in tears that stung his eyes in their bid to escape. He abandoned the padd to the bed and pulled his knees up to his chest, rocking back and forth, back and forth, a distressed whine leaving his mouth as he buried his face in his knees. Before long, gravity and muscle weakness took him to his side, and he curled into a tighter ball, unable to even think about reaching for the call button. There was a high static buzz ringing in his ears, pressure climbing behind his eyes, and he moaned in fear as he felt something within begin to give. The conversation he’d had with Bones came back to him in surround sound, the one about feeling that he was meant to die alone, and realised with a horrible lurch that it might be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Who cheated death twice? There would be no more miracles.  
  
As he writhed weakly, _**alone alone alone**_ echoing in his head with horrible clarity, he missed what must have been the frantic clang of boots on metal, missed the tired _whoosh_ of the doors, because all of a sudden, Spock and Bones were by his side. Spock reached for him immediately, hands skimming over skin and paper-thin Medbay fabric, before they settled on his side, one on his flank, one on his bare arm.  
  
‘Medicate him,’ Spock hissed, his palpable desperation filtering through to Jim.  
  
‘I can’t give him anything until the serum is ready, Spock, and it’s not ready! I can’t give you any more painkillers, Jimmy, I’m sorry. It’ll stop your heart.’  
  
Jim thought that maybe that would be preferable to this particular brand of torture, but then Spock did something magical. Both hands shifted to rest on his arm, pushing down gently, and he felt a heavy, blanketing warmth surround him, somehow protecting him from the worst of the pain. He craned his neck, and eyes that had been squeezed shut gingerly fluttered open, meeting those which were wild with concern, but still gorgeous in their panic.  
  
‘Hey,’ he croaked, rolling onto his back to see Spock better. He was exhausted, lethargic, the undercurrent of pain still chipping away at what little strength remained, and yet there was nothing he wanted more than to be near to him. Spock did not reply, only squeezed tighter with the one hand that remained on his arm, his gaze shifting to Bones.  
  
‘Five minutes, Spock,’ Bones muttered, out of Jim’s peripheral vision. ‘Five minutes.’  
  
Spock huffed, visibly agitated, and his other hand shook as it hovered over Jim.  
  
‘Hurry,’ he said urgently.  
  
Jim blinked, and suddenly his left visual field went blank.  
  
‘Bones,’ he squeaked, the creeping terror returning with a vengeance. He drew his hand up to press around his blind eye, blinking hard as if to clear it. ‘Bones, I can’t see! M-my left…’  
  
 _‘Shit._ S’alright, Jimmy, just need to get this serum sorted and it’ll fix you, we can fix you.’  
  
Disorientated by the blackness that had consumed his vision, Jim scrabbled for Spock’s hand and held it tight, his anchor against the tidal wave of fear that threatened to consume him entirely. Spock’s desperate eyes flickered across his features before affixing his, the naked emotion in them doing nothing to combat the encroaching feeling of dread.  
  
‘I’m scared, Spock,’ he whispered thickly, fighting for composure. ‘Help me not be.’  
  
Something seemed to break in Spock then, his breath leaving him in a jagged rush, and he reached for Jim, his palm cupping his cheek.  
  
‘I am here, Jim,’ he choked, thumb rubbing along his cheekbone. Jim let out a broken sob, hot tears welling and overflowing. Spock wiped them gently away.  
  
‘Wanted to touch you last time so bad,’ he whimpered.  
  
‘As did I.’  
  
With one already useless and his vision blurring in the other, Jim couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He heard Spock’s panicked call of his name, but felt too weak to respond, barely twitching at the familiar prick of a needle in the side of his neck.  
  
‘James,’ he heard Spock whimper, distraught, and gentle lips brushed against his, but before he had a chance to consider what that meant, there was a sudden convulsion of agony, and he was lost to darkness again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Well. That's depressing, and I wrote it. I just finished my last exam today, and it went so well that I thought I'd come home and finish the chapter for you guys! Hope you enjoyed it, even if you cried reading it - I cried just writing it. Feel free to come and find me at my [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/), and I hope you guys have a nice weekend :)


	18. And Warred With Yourself

When Jim seized in his arms, Spock’s world fell apart. Time moved in uneven pulses as Leonard tried and failed to wrench him away from his thrashing t’hy’la, the hands of a thrice-weaker being doing little to interfere with his iron grip.  
  
‘Spock, if you don’t let go, he’s gonna die!’  
  
The desperate words filtered through his auditory exclusion, and when he comprehended their meaning, he let go as if he had been burnt, staggering back as his place was taken by an abundance of medics, hands flying over Jim. He found himself pushed further and further away from the bed as time went on and Jim’s fitting did not cease, a distant, frantic observer of his worst nightmare playing out in cold reality. Jim, his t’hy’la, his k’hat’n’dlawa, was convulsing unceasingly in front of him, his beautiful eyes blank and unseeing, just as they had been in the radiation chamber upon his death. Each breath became harder to draw in, his chest tightening at the very salient possibility of history repeating itself, yet this time, there was no Khan, no ‘miracle’. In the midst of this waking nightmare, his communicator chirped at his belt. At first, he ignored it, but the call was persistent and unrelenting, so with his eyes firmly fixed on Jim, he answered, ‘Yes?’  
  
 _‘Sir, it’s 1048 hours,’_ Nyota replied, a strain in her voice. _‘We need you in the transporter room.’_  
  
The very thought of leaving Jim now, still thrashing as he was, made bile rise in his throat.  
  
‘Lieutenant, the Captain is… is…’  
  
He could not continue. There was a long pause, and when Nyota’s voice returned, it was softer, sadder.  
  
 _‘I’m sorry, Commander, but if you’re late, they might regard it as an insult. Please come to the transporter room as soon as possible.’_  
  
The call ended, and Spock remained rooted to the spot, numb with shock.  
  
‘Doctor?’ he called tremulously, and Leonard’s head turned towards him, though his hands, and attention, were still obviously with Jim. ‘Doctor, the Aerlans, I-’  
  
Leonard was already nodding mid-way through his sentence, and he interrupted with, ‘Go! There’s nothing you can do for him right now except do his job for him. Go, Spock.’  
  
Though it was against everything he wished for, every instinct screaming at him to stay, Spock obeyed. With one last desperate look towards the bed, his t’hy’la obscured by the mass of medical staff swarming around him, he backed slowly out of the room, feet dragging. Leaving Jim was anathema to Spock. To be walking away from him, every step felt like wading through water in leaden boots, the current, his will, trying to drag him back to where he belonged: by his side. However, despite the agony it caused him, he knew he could not jeopardise the mission for his own selfish desires. Jim could, and would, recover without him. The fact that he did not relish a week away from him was irrelevant.  
  
He arrived at the transporter room still in somewhat of a daze, ignoring the relieved faces of those waiting on the pad, and took his place at the front of the group. He was alone in his anguish; none of his companions knew about Jim, nor, it seemed, did Lieutenant Commander Scott, judging by his cheerful expression.  
  
‘Cuttin’ it a bit fine there, Commander,’ he grinned, yet Spock could do nothing but stare blankly back at him, watching the smile slip from his face with faint regret. ‘…Right. Everybody ready? Good. Energise.’  
  
Spock closed his eyes as they beamed down, the ever-unsettling sensation of particle displacement leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth. When the room materialised around him, he found himself surrounded by silver-skinned Aerlans, and he recognised K’thia from their earlier transmissions. K’thia stepped forward, their mouth turning upwards and widening to reveal sharp, pointed teeth.  
  
‘Commander Spock,’ the universal translator interpreted. ‘Welcome to Aera. We are delighted to make your acquaintance.’  
  
‘Likewise,’ Spock replied monotonously, not in the mood for pleasantries. K’thia's eyes blinked one after the other, and though their smile did not falter, the armoured guard beside them tightened their grip on the phaser-like weapon they held.  
  
‘As previously discussed, you may remain here for one Terran week to negotiate,’ K’thia continued, clasping long-fingered hands over their stomach. ‘However… we have some new conditions.’  
  
Spock was immediately on his guard, and he felt Lieutenant Hendorff shift closer to him, air displacing between them.  
  
‘We have acquiesced to every request you have made so far,’ he said coldly.  
  
‘You have, and we appreciate that. Nevertheless, another condition has arisen. We would like for you to give us your communicators for the duration of your stay.’  
  
Spock frowned, holding a hand up to quell the frantic whispers of dissent behind him even as his own alarm made itself known in the bowels of his stomach.  
  
‘The communicators are our only way of contacting the Enterprise,’ he protested. _‘And making sure that Jim is alive,’_ his mind added urgently.  
  
K’thia’s razor smile did not falter, their expression losing none of its pleasant nature.  
  
‘We are aware of that, Commander. We believe that remaining in contact with the ship will distract you from the negotiations, which we are keen to commence.’  
  
Spock’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.  
  
‘You would leave us without any method of communicating with our ship?’  
  
‘If you wish to negotiate, those are our terms,’ K’thia confirmed, inclining their head. ‘If you are worried for your safety, we would, of course, allow you to retain your weapons.’  
  
The one thought that had sustained Spock after Jim’s seizure was that he would be able to contact Leonard in the aftermath and inquire as to his condition. If he agreed, then he would not only be prevented from doing so, but potentially put the landing party in danger of attack without backup. Conversely, if he refused, he would single-handedly ruin negotiations with a new species, and kindle the wrath of Starfleet Command. The latter was unthinkable. However excruciating it would be to be prevented from learning of Jim’s condition, at least Jim was in safe hands.  
  
‘Very well,’ Spock acquiesced. ‘I would ask that your people inform the ship periodically of our status.’  
  
‘Of course,’ K’thia replied, that ever-present grin curling up at the corners.  
  
‘Sir,’ Hendorff hissed, somewhere in the vicinity of his right ear, ‘this sounds like a trap.’  
  
The Aerlans did not appear to have heard him, but Spock flashed him a warning glance nevertheless, communicating his need for compliance.  
  
‘If we are in agreement, then please give your communicators to me.’  
  
K’thia walked forwards and held out their hands, and after an uncertain glance or two at Spock, the landing party gave the communicators to them, one by one. Spock was last. He hesitated as K’thia beckoned for the only piece of equipment that still connected him to Jim, the only way of knowing if he still lived. Horror consumed him at the thought of having hope when there was none, the terrifying possibility of returning to the Enterprise to be confronted with a corpse and a distraught crew. And no Jim, no bright, beautiful Jim, to welcome him home. It was only when K’thia began to withdraw, their smile dimming slightly, that he forced himself to deposit the communicator in their hands.  
  
‘We thank you for your compliance. If you would kindly come this way, Queen Veya is ready to greet you.’  
  
Spock nodded sharply, noting that the guards were no longer holding their weapons, though they still bracketed the group at both sides. The Aerlans moved as if they were floating, no doubt aided by the lower gravity of their planet, and there seemed to be no urgency in them. Spock had not yet decided whether their cheerful demeanours were a true reflection of their personalities, or a mere display of manipulation, but the fact that their communicators had been removed did not exactly give him confidence in his decision. They entered the resplendent throne room in pair formation, the guards fanning out across the room as they did so, apparently unaffected by the magnificence before them. The landing party displayed no such indifference. They gaped openly at the opulence of the throne, the dais it was settled on, and the shimmering chandelier that lit the room, whispers inaudible but for a low murmur. Spock alone kept his gaze straight ahead, fixed on the being sat stiffly upright on the throne. Queen Veya’s skin was a few shades darker than the androgynous K’thia’s, and although they were similar in general appearance, she had perhaps more feminine features. Spock briefly mused as to whether the Aerlans had three genders, but that line of thought was discontinued when the Queen spoke.  
  
‘Welcome to Aera,’ she smiled, her presumably jagged teeth hidden behind closed lips. ‘You must be Commander Spock.’  
  
‘I am, Your Majesty,’ Spock confirmed, the unfamiliar title warping as it escaped his mouth.  
  
‘And your purpose is to convince us to become part of this… Federation?’  
  
Her translated words were tinged with amusement, patronising, as if she thought them lesser beings, and Spock found himself bristling, concealing his rising irritation behind a blank façade.  
  
‘Our purpose is to explore the galaxy,’ he replied monotonously. ‘Beyond that, we aim to liaise with species on a high enough evolutionary plane and _offer_ a place in the Federation.’  
  
He wished Jim was here; with his easy smiles and flirtatious words he was skilled at negotiating with the most difficult of beings. Few could resist his obvious charms. Spock, however, was not naturally gifted with flattery, and with Jim’s status both unknown and unreachable, his patience was already wearing thin.  
  
‘And we are ‘on a high enough evolutionary plane’?’  
  
‘Naturally. You contacted us, did you not?’  
  
Queen Veya beamed, her teeth baring and drawing Spock’s gaze.  
  
‘That we did,’ she agreed, pausing in her speech for a long moment as she surveyed the rest of the landing party. ‘Negotiations will begin at sundown. We Aerlans tend to sleep during what you would call day, and spend the darker hours working because of the brightness of our sun. You will be provided with your own rooms for the duration of your stay, and I would advise that you get some rest before we begin.’  
  
Without another word, she motioned to the guards, who began herding them out of the room. Just as they turned the corner, Spock saw K’thia lean over and whisper into the Queen’s ear, a glint in the singular eye that tracked their progress out of the room.  
  
‘Sir, do you think this is legit?’ Lieutenant Hendorff whispered as they followed the guards through seemingly endless winding corridors, tunnelling and windowless.  
  
‘I cannot see what other option we have except to acquiesce to their demands and negotiate without our communicators. I do not think that we are in immediate danger, considering that we have been allowed to retain our phasers, however, I would strongly advise caution, especially in the coming hours. Attempt to rest, but remain on your guard.’  
  
‘Yessir,’ Hendorff muttered, just as the guards stopped moving.  
  
‘This is where you will be staying for the duration of the negotiations,’ one explained, voice muffled by the strange helmet that obscured all but their milky eyes. ‘As her Majesty explained, it is best for you to rest now. You will be collected and guided to the negotiation room at 1900 hours. If you are hungry, there is food provided in your sleeping areas.’  
  
The guard then pushed open the nearest door and gestured for someone to enter. Lieutenant Hendorff did, with a final, uncertain glance at Spock. They continued up the corridor, and Spock allowed each of the landing party to take a room, until he was the last remaining in the corridor. The guard gestured to the next door along, inclined their head, and walked away, almost silent footsteps on the bright white tile. Suddenly exhausted, Spock pushed open the door, and was confronted with a squeak. An Aerlan, presumably some sort of maid, fumbled with the towels they were carrying, and would have dropped them were it not for Spock’s quick reflexes.  
  
‘Thank you, sir,’ they said breathlessly, and with the pitch of their voice and the softness of their features, Spock assumed that they were female. However, he always aimed to be accurate.  
  
‘It was no difficulty,’ he dismissed, as he handed them back to her. ‘Perhaps you could answer a question for me?’  
  
Her eyes went wide as she nodded fervently.  
  
‘Of course, sir!’  
  
‘Do Aerlans have genders?’  
  
‘Yes, sir. Three main genders. Female and male – those are similar to yours, perhaps? And then there are those who are intersex, such as Advisor K’thia. Of course, there are also other, less common identities, but on a purely biological basis, we are born into those three categories.’  
  
‘Are intersex beings common on Aera?’ he asked, curious.  
  
‘Not quite as common as females and males, but common nonetheless,’ she answered quickly, eager to please. ‘Have you any other questions, sir?’  
  
‘Yes. What is your name?’  
  
‘My name is Maera… and yours, sir?’  
  
‘I am Spock,’ he replied, taking his first appreciative look at the pristine room. ‘Thank you for your work.’  
  
‘It’s no problem, sir. I should have finished earlier – if they knew that I was still in here when you arrived, they would be angry.’  
  
‘It seems that your delay was fortuitous,’ he told her, ‘because you were here to answer my question.’  
  
‘Again, it was no problem, sir. I must go now, but I will be taking care of your room for the duration of your stay if you are in need of me.’  
  
She bowed her head and scurried away before he could reply, dropping the clean towels on a lowered seat by what the entrance to what Spock presumed was the bathroom. As the door clicked shut, he took a heavy breath, the reality of the situation dawning on him now that there was no further distractions. Jim had declined so much in recent weeks that he had learnt to dread each new insidious symptom, each new ache and pain that was revealed to him sending his stomach into fearful spasm, and he had foolishly hoped that Nurse Chapel’s serum would put an end to their agony. It should have been expected not to work, what with the limited timeframe it was processed in, but it was not. Spock’s devastation had been overwhelming, crippling, and Jim’s evident fear had made it all the worse. He had spent every second that he was able working on the formula, attempting to refine it, sustain its healing properties, but now he didn’t even know if it had succeeded in its purpose.   
  
Legs weakening, he dropped to the bed, head in his hands. Jim’s seizure, too long lasting, too violent, played out behind his closed eyelids, and he tried to ignore the little voice in his head which suggested that it may have been the last time he would see Jim alive. He didn’t even get to say goodbye… He felt hollow, as if his insides had been scraped clean. Any cure, any vaccine, was refined and tested for years on end, but Spock hadn’t even had months. His tear ducts burned, and he did not fight their insistent desire for release, feeling tears dribble down his face and pool in his hands with numb discomfort.  
  
 _Please,_ he begged inwardly, not knowing or caring where his plea was directed. _Please let him live. I will do anything. **Anything.**_  
  
He pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes, and crawled onto the bed, curling up on his side. His boots were likely dirtying the clean bed linen, but he did not care. His body was preparing to mourn, tears spilling unhindered, despite the fact that he was not certain of Jim’s death. Would he not have felt it? Would he not have known if his t’hy’la had passed? Perhaps he would, if only a bond had been in place. Spock cursed his own ridiculous excuses, _**hated**_ himself for his damnable reticence. His Father had been right – they were _born_ to love one another, and his attempted strangulation of Jim (much referred to, much regretted) did not change that. Jim could have been his a long time ago, and perhaps then, he would have noticed his condition earlier. His anguish manifested itself in the trembling that wracked his whole body, and the constant stream of tears, flowing freely and settling uncomfortably in the hollow beneath his cheek. He could have prevented this. That simple fact settled in his core, an unwelcome, but deserved burden. The long hours passed in torment. He did not sleep.  
  
Later, when he returned to his room after hours of fruitless negotiation, too exhausted even to go through the motions of his normal night routine, Maera was there again, folding the bed linen into place. She seemed startled by his appearance, and rightly so, as the great majority of the landing party had decided to take a tour of the palace. Spock, however, was in no such mood for spending unnecessary time in the company of the guards. He held his hand up in a plea for peace as her mouth opened, presumably to apologise.  
  
‘You were not to know that I would be returning,’ he murmured, forcing himself to stand ramrod straight when he began to sway on his feet. ‘Do not fear my reaction.’  
  
Maera nodded, smoothing the bed linen down, and folded her arms in a self-conscious movement across her stomach. Perhaps if he were in a better mood, Spock might have pre-empted the question she obviously wanted to ask, but his amiability was suffering beneath the heavy weight of sorrow and exhaustion, so he waited instead.  
  
‘Forgive me for being so bold, sir,’ she said eventually, fiddling with the perfect hospital corner of the top sheet, ‘but you seem… out of sorts.’  
  
‘You do not know me well enough to make that assessment.’  
  
His tone was matter-of-fact, not accusatory. Still, she flinched, but he did not regret his words; they were the truth.   
  
‘Perhaps not, but I have always read people well. I mean no offence, sir.’  
  
‘I am not offended,’ he replied distantly, sinking onto the end of the bed so he didn’t fall over. Maera frowned, watching him with an air of expectation.   
  
Weary from the complicated game of diplomacy, he admitted, ‘The negotiations, though both welcome and vital, have come at a rather difficult time. My Captain is unwell.’  
  
Throughout the table talks, Spock’s attention had been only partly on the delegates. He was capable of concentrating on two things at once, and so the great majority of his thoughts were with Jim, cycling between the possibility of him being alive and well, and the much more likely possibility of that not being the case. That vision haunted him constantly, a waking nightmare on repeat. Now, he watched Maera’s face soften in understanding – perhaps too much.  
  
‘This Captain - she is your friend?’  
  
 _‘He,’_ Spock corrected absently, thinking of Jim’s fear before the seizure, and the hot flow of tears wiped away by his hand. ‘He is…’  
  
The words ‘my friend’ stuck in his throat. That was how one might define their relationship, how an outsider might define it, but it went deeper for Spock – and, if he was correct, for Jim too. The word ‘t’hy’la’, _friendbrotherlover,_ was more fitting. Jim was everything to him, the light in his darkness, his _soulmate,_ and it might be too late to tell him so. His breath hitched, and he bowed his head, appalled at himself.  
  
‘I see,’ Maera said. In the long silence that prevailed, Spock regained control of his disobedient tear ducts, and looked back up at her. ‘Perhaps more than that?’  
  
‘Yes.’  
  
Maera smiled, and though her teeth were as sharp as any Aerlan’s, it was still soft.  
  
‘Well, you’ll be able to see him when you get back, won’t you?’  
  
The question was obviously rhetorical, but Spock could not help but voice his uncertainty.  
  
‘That remains unclear,’ he mumbled, swallowing thickly against the lump that had risen in his oesophagus. ‘He was extremely unwell, and I could not- I _cannot_ contact the ship to ascertain whether he is alive.’  
  
To her credit, Maera made no more intensive response than to twist her mouth in sympathy, expressing a murmur of discontent.  
  
‘I am sorry that my people are making this so difficult for you.’  
  
‘At any other time, it would not have been as much of an issue,’ Spock said truthfully. ‘However, I often find myself preoccupied with thoughts of Jim.’  
  
‘That is as to be expected, sir. I hope that your Captain is well.’  
  
‘As do I,’ Spock whispered. Maera curtseyed, then she picked up an unseen cloth from the top of one of the cabinets and left. When the door closed, he let himself fall, his back flat on the bed, but his feet still anchored to the floor, hair all in disarray against the cool, fresh linen. He required meditation, but did not have the strength even to move from the bed. Without his incense, without his mat, he could cope, but without Jim? Unthinkable. There were some losses that were insurmountable. Aware that his efficiency in the negotiations relied on his ability to remain balanced, and in control, he nonetheless attempted to access a primitive meditative state, those that children were taught of in their early years. It was sufficient – barely – but he did not feel stable, unable to soothe the throbbing hurt that surfaced with every thought of Jim.  
  
Spock drew himself from his own mind like needle from muscle, smooth for the most part but catching on the very edge in a painful twang, sending aching ripples running inwards. He could hear the distant echoes of voices and knew that it was not time for sleep, but his body said otherwise. His boots were toed off and dumped on the floor, and he crawled fully-dressed into bed, flicking the lights off. Images of Jim flickered behind his closed eyelids like in a flipbook, each darker, and more horrifying than the next. He longed for the days of blissful ignorance, of exploration and blossoming feelings and uncertain touches, because at least then, Jim was well. Despite his racing thoughts, Spock eventually fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion, his dreams filled with Jim, always Jim, cold and still and lifeless. There was no peace to be found that night.  
  
On the final day of negotiations, a day that Spock had been counting down to obsessively, he said goodbye to Maera before he left to meet the Queen and her associates. She had wished him well, and when he had thanked her for her hard work, she had merely told him that she would be praying for him, and for the Captain. Spock did not know what god the Aerlans believed in, but the gesture was nonetheless touching. Now, he sat in front of a panel of judgemental aristocrats, and he did not want to be here. However, he had to be diplomatic for the sake of the mission, and he knew that diplomacy would not be best served by asking to hurry the decision-making process. It had been one week, one endless, torturous week of persuasion and genuflection, attempting to accept the posturing of the indigenous peoples while his blood boiled with rage and guilt and horrendous pain, and now, Spock had had enough. He knew not what had happened to his t’hy’la, whether he was even alive or dead, and now the crew, his _family,_ were being disrespected. As K’thia sneered at the group, he pushed his chair backwards with a screech of rubber on tile and stood, fists balling at his side.  
  
‘Your Majesty,’ he said venomously, ignoring K’thia’s frown of discontent, ‘if I may speak.’  
  
The Queen, seeming bored as she slumped in her chair next to K’thia, looked up.  
  
‘Of course,’ she replied, her tone unfathomable.  
  
Spock’s righteous anger flooded outwards as he pulled himself up to his greatest height, feeling his knuckles strain against his skin.  
  
‘I would like to remind you that we came to Aera on your bidding. We are explorers, our mission only to go where others have not gone before. We are not diplomats, not accustomed to lengthy negotiations, and if am to be honest, the attitude of several of your representatives is beginning to grate. As I have previously mentioned, we are _offering_ you a place in the Federation. This would entail greater protection in the event of war, aid with the fallout from planet-wide disasters, and greater technological advancement. My planet is gone. Were it not for the Federation, were it not for Starfleet, the few members of my race that still live would have been depleted even further. You are not obligated to join us, nor are we obligated to continue trying to persuade those who will not listen. Make your decision. We will be leaving once this meeting concludes.’  
  
He remained standing after he had finished speaking, quivering with repressed anger. Queen Veya was wide-eyed, and for a long, terrible moment, Spock thought that he had ruined everything. Then, however, she surprised him. A smile insinuated itself upon her face, but now it seemed softer, more genuine.  
  
‘Finally,’ she breathed, leaning back in her chair. ‘We’ve been waiting for a little more… assertiveness.’  
  
Spock frowned, his mouth falling open as he struggled for something to say. In the silence, the Queen rose from her chair, absently rearranging the flowing material of her sleeves.  
  
‘We will join your Federation, Commander. You are free to go whenever you wish.’  
  
She cast a friendlier gaze over the group, a quirk to her lips as she turned to leave, three guards falling nearly into step behind her. As Spock stared after her, dumbfounded, K’thia laughed.  
  
‘Don’t look so surprised,’ they grinned. ‘We as a culture appreciate directness. We will return your communicators to you, and then you may leave.’  
  
They clicked their fingers at a guard, who dutifully went to retrieve them from a hidden alcove in the unlit corner of the room. Spock shook as he forced himself not to dash over and grab the box, waiting with anticipation clutching at his throat, light-headed as his communicator was offered back to him. Clumsy fingers sliding awkwardly over the buttons, he hailed Doctor McCoy.  
  
 _‘Spock?’_  
  
‘Doctor,’ he rasped, aware of the odd looks he was receiving from the rest of the landing part, but not particularly caring. ‘Jim, he-’  
  
 _‘You sure do pick your moments, don’t you Spock? I’ve just released him.’  
  
Oh!_  
  
The relief that pulsed through him was like nothing he had ever felt before. It sent his heart soaring, and he was forced to grab onto the table before him as his knees weakened. He felt like he was floating.  
  
‘He… he lives?’ his question was quiet, one of pleading confirmation.   
  
_‘Yes, Spock. He’s alive.’_  
  
Leonard’s reply was just as quiet, saturated with understanding, and Spock was hard pressed to suppress the tears that had recently been so copious. _Alive. Jim was alive._ He could not contain the tiny smile that curled up the corners of his lips, a smile that only K’thia, and a bemused-looking Lieutenant Hendorff, seemed to see.  
  
 _‘I’ll speak to you when you get back up here, alright?’_  
  
The tone was much gentler than he was used to from Leonard, a welcome balm for his fragile nerves, and he nodded, before realising that his response would not be seen.  
  
‘Thank you,’ he muttered. ‘We shall be arriving shortly.’  
  
He turned to K’thia, who was eyeing him curiously, and inclined his head, his eagerness to leave concealed beneath a carefully neutral demeanour.  
  
‘We thank you for your hospitality, and look forward to your acceptance into the Federation. The President will be in contact with your people soon.’  
  
‘You are welcome,’ K’thia smiled, rising from their chair. ‘We appreciate your patience. Until we meet again, Commander.’  
  
Spock nodded, waiting until they had left the room before turning to the group (a number of whom were regarding him curiously), and requested immediate beam-up. Seconds later, they arrived back in the transporter room, and Spock could barely contain his joy to be returning to his home, to be returning to Jim.  
  
‘Good evening, Commander,’ Mr. Scott chirped, leaning across the transporter terminal. ‘Doctor McCoy told me that he wants you all in Medbay for a check-up.’  
  
‘Thank you, Mr. Scott.’  
  
Spock was off the platform and out of the room before the landing party had finished grumbling about their nightmarish fate, never having been so keen to visit the Doctor’s domain. He ached to see Jim, and the yearning grew ever stronger as he came closer to Medbay, his speedy walking becoming a jog when he exited the turbolift. Breathlessly, he rushed through the main doors to Leonard’s office, and was met halfway there by the man himself. Spock could see the wear of the last few weeks on his face, but he was smiling, a miracle in itself.  
  
‘He’s okay, Spock,’ he said, the words bubbling from his mouth in jubilant disbelief.  
  
‘The serum worked,’ Spock breathed, craning his neck to look into Leonard’s office. ‘Where is he?’  
  
‘Were you even listening before? I released him to his quarters!’  
  
 _There_ was the bite to his words, a welcome familiarity that might have comforted Spock, were it not for the jarring realisation that hit him as he processed their meaning. Without further conversation, he began to turn on his heel.  
  
‘Wait a min- _wait!’_  
  
Reluctantly, Spock obeyed, submitting to the arcing sweep of the tricorder which had appeared from an unknown location, muscles tensing rhythmically with the need to leave.  
  
‘Calm down, Romeo,’ Leonard muttered, squinting at the readings. ‘You’ve got tonight and tomorrow off – the both of you. There’s no rush.’  
  
‘Forgive me if I am eager to see my Captain when it was entirely possible that he had expired.’  
  
‘He’s more to you than that, Spock, and if you don’t admit it to him tonight, I’ll tell him everything. I’m sick of your bullshit. Sick of his.’  
  
He pulled the tricorder away, head lifting along with Spock’s at the sound of an approaching group, boots trudging in asynchronous formation towards Medbay.  
  
‘You’re fine,’ Leonard muttered. ‘Go and make things right, Spock. We all know you two are disgustingly in love, so you might as well admit it to yourselves.’  
  
Spock needed no further instruction. He fled Medbay, slipping past the disgruntled remainder of the landing party, and took the turbolift upwards, not even attempting to hide the fact that he was running as he exited it. The few crewmembers in the corridor stared curiously, but he did not care, entering his own quarters and dashing through into the bathroom, knocking hard on the connecting door. There was a pause long enough to shatter his thin veneer of control, arms tensing and trembling like violin strings tuned too tight.  
  
‘Jim?’ he called, a question and a demand all at once.  
  
‘Spock?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off to work soon so I thought I'd just put this chapter up quickly, and get back to Mondays :) Really hope you guys enjoy - let me know what you think! Also, feel free to check me out on [Tumblr!](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/)


	19. Feels Like Home To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly had a heart attack last night when I checked Ao3 before bed and it told me that I hadn't updated since the 22nd of January - I actually did on the 2nd of February, so it lied to me. This chapter is longer than normal, and so will the final chapter, because I think Spock and Jim deserve that. So without further ado, just let me do this:
> 
> WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT
> 
> and I'll let you all get on your way :)

It was different now. Last time, Jim had woken confused, the lights too bright to be his afterlife; a kind of heaven he was sure he did not qualify for. This time, he woke to fear. The darkness that met his eyes was absolute, the silence also, punctuated only by his own laboured breathing and the rush of blood pumping in his ears.

‘Spock?’ he whispered, swiping his tongue across his lower lip as he recalled the delicate press of a mouth against his and the violence of the pain that had come after. Was he awake, or… something else? There was no answer, no warm arms around him, no soft words of comfort. Jim felt panic begin to claw at his throat.

‘Spock?’ he croaked, a little louder. ‘Bones? Anyone?’

His voice cracked on the final syllable, a sob spluttering out straight afterwards, and he would have cried out had a loud _whoosh_ not signified the entrance of a flood of light, a dark figure rapidly approaching. He flung his arm up over his burning eyes, his ears taking a second or two to discern what the figure was muttering.

‘-kill Palmer! Jim? Jimmy, it’s me. I’ve turned the lights down a little.’

He might have heard the words, but he didn’t understand them until his arm was gently grasped and pulled down, Bones’ familiar, worried face peering into his. Jim released a shaky breath of relief and reached for him, pulling him half onto the bed with the force of his embrace. Bones grunted, but returned the favour anyway.

‘Someone’s enthusiastic,’ he grumbled, smoothing down Jim’s hair.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ Jim whispered. He wasn’t. It felt too good to be alive. ‘I thought I was dead.’

‘Yeah, and I’m gonna kick Palmer’s ass. I told him to leave the lights on dim, and he muted the damn heart monitor! It’s a good thing that I’ve been remote-monitoring your vitals and saw the spike.’

‘How long’s it been?’ Jim asked, reluctantly allowing him to pull away.

‘Four days. Whatever Spock did to that serum – it worked. And just in time too, because your organs were failing.’

‘Spock!’ Jim exclaimed, delaying his relief at _not-dying_ and focusing on the man he considered more important than that. ‘Where is he? Is he with the Aerlans? I want to talk to him!’

‘You can’t. Sorry, Jim. The Aerlans have taken their communicators.’

‘What?’ Jim barked, furious not only at their audacity, but at the fact that they had robbed him of speaking to Spock. ‘Have we sent another team to bring them back?’

‘No, but they should be back in a few days. The Aerlans send us status reports though.’

‘Did they say why they took the communicators?’

Bones shrugged.

‘Said they distracted them or something,’ he frowned.

‘Bullshit,’ Jim spat. ‘Spock’ll be more distracted if he doesn’t know I’m okay… Bones? Did he really kiss me, or did I imagine it?’

Bones was nodding before he finished his sentence, a strange mix of disgust and satisfaction on his face.

‘Would’a been sweeter if he’d done it when he first figured out he was in love with you, but I’m glad he did it at all. Even if it made me want to puke a little.’

‘He’s not in love with me,’ Jim denied, his hand drifting absently to touch his lower lip.

‘Oh, he is,’ Bones insisted, pulling an empty hypo and an alcohol wipe from a nearby drawer. ‘You’ll see when he gets back.’

Jim shook his head as Bones gently straightened his arm and snapped on some gloves.

‘Tired of you idiots dancing round each other like kids playin’ Chicken. If nothin’ happens when he gets back, I’ll lock you in a supply closet ’til it does.’

‘That’d be nice,’ Jim agreed, flinching away from the tapping at his elbow. ‘Maybe if I pretend I’m afraid of the dark, he’ll let me sit on his lap.’

Bones grimaced.

‘Didn’t need that imagery. And what do you mean ‘pretend’?’

‘Yeah, alright,’ Jim sulked, turning his face away as the needle went in. ‘Maybe not pretend.’

‘He nearly lost you, Jim. We all did. Horrible as it sounds, there’s nothin’ better than seeing someone look death in the face to make you sort out your feelings.’

Jim stayed silent as the needle was withdrawn, his blood collected in the vial above it. Bones’ words weren’t helping, much as he wanted them to be true.

‘A few more days, then he’ll be back,’ he mused quietly, longing for him already. He hated for them to be apart, and on the odd occasion that he considered life beyond their five-year mission, his chest throbbed in response to the mere thought that Spock might leave him forever. Bones nodded, pressing a soft pad over the needle mark.

‘A few more days,’ he repeated. ‘I’ve got to go and check your bloods, Jim. You know what to do if you need me.’

‘Yeah. Thanks, Bones.’

The corridor was dark when the doors opened to let him leave. Ship’s night. Jim hoped that meant he was closer to having Spock back, whenever that would be. He pressed the pad over his arm, watching as a droplet of blood squeezed up and stained it red, hoping that he was well again, hoping that Spock would come home soon.

The days and nights in Medbay passed as they ever had – endless, and horrifically boring. By the third day, Jim was chomping at the bit to leave, harassing Bones every time he came through the door.

‘Fine!’ Bones eventually snapped, running his tricorder over Jim for the umpteenth time. ‘Fine. You can leave after you get dressed.’

‘Yay, thanks, Bonesy,’ Jim cooed, grabbing him in an awkward side-hug that he managed to wade his way out of.

‘Won’t thank me if things go to shit again.’

‘You’re just mad that you can’t find anything wrong with me,’ Jim said primly, dodging a flick to his ear.

‘I’m never mad at that, Jim,’ Bones groused. ‘Unfortunately, you’ve got a self-sacrificing streak.’

Jim shrugged, unselfconsciously ripping off the medical gown and wiggling his loose pants up over his ass. His legs protested the movements, muscles weak from disuse.

‘You can’t blame me for this one.’

‘No, I can’t,’ Bones said quietly, as he tugged on his undershirt. ‘You’re off for a few days anyway – just to make sure. Don’t argue.’

Jim’s mouth had opened to do just that, but he recognised the futility of his argument, and nodded instead.

‘Fine. Got loads of reports anyway,’ he muttered, wishing Spock was here to make him feel better about his extended isolation. Decent now, he took his padd from Bones and set off for his quarters.

‘Jim?’ Bones called after him. He stopped in the doorway, holding it for support. ‘When Spock gets back… remember what I said, alright?’

Jim still couldn’t believe it, but _god,_ he wanted to.

‘Okay,’ he said softly, stepping into the corridor. As he passed crewmembers on the way to his quarters, he noticed that their smiles were wider than before, a déjà vu moment that reminded him of his first address after the radiation chamber. He smiled back just as enthusiastically, grateful that these people cared – the only family he had ever really had. Bones sometimes joked that he and Spock were the parents of the crew, and Jim thought they might as well be, considering how much they both cared for each and every one of them. Jim entered his quarters thinking of Spock, how a fire ignited in his belly every time that penetrating gaze reached his, and how it wouldn’t be long before that gaze met his again. He told the computer to raise the temperature by five degrees as he sat at his desk, knowing that Spock would be more comfortable that way. Perhaps he would let Jim hug him for longer than normal when he returned.

With that thought in mind, and sequestered in his quarters, Jim pulled up his first report with a reluctant sigh. An hour or so later, he was roused from the admin headspace he’d managed to get himself into by what he thought was a knock. He froze, letting the padd fall on the desk with a clatter, wondering if he’d imagined it.

‘Jim?’

Overwhelming joy flooded through him, and he stood on shaky legs, moving towards the bathroom.

‘Spock?’ he called, and the unlocked door came immediately open. In the doorway stood Spock, looking pale and exhausted, but his eyes visibly softened when they met Jim’s, his lips turning up at the corners. Jim lunged for him, stumbling forwards on wobbly Bambi legs and throwing his arms around him as tightly as he could. Spock’s arms came round him in return, a welcome weight against his back, but when Jim pressed his full body against him, he could feel him begin to tremble, a stiffness returning to his limbs. Jim pulled away, and Spock’s arms slid from him with little resistance. His disappointment felt like a brick in his stomach, Bones’ surety obviously false. Spock stared at him, pupils blown wide with something like fear, and Jim’s disappointment coagulated into rage.

‘Why did you save me?’ he asked, fury simmering beneath his surface calmness.

Spock’s mouth opened but he remained soundless, just as he had two years before, before they were even truly friends, and Jim’s anger swelled into something monstrous, uncontainable.

‘Why did you try so hard to save me?’ he screamed, flying forwards, hands fisting in Spock’s shirt and tugging in weak anguish. His voice lost all strength. ‘What am I to you, Spock?’

Incensed and heartbroken in equal measure, he watched as Spock’s face slowly crumpled, his expression becoming open and vulnerable. He looked wrecked, and it was the most beautiful thing Jim had ever seen.

‘You are t’hy’la,’ Spock whispered, voice cracking with emotion. ‘You are my t’hy’la and I could not bear for you to leave me. You are everything.’

Jim couldn’t breathe. He feared that if he broke the absolute stillness in the aftermath of Spock’s confession, then it might be taken back, Spock locking himself away tighter than ever before. He let his eyes speak for him, wide and pleading and desperate for it to be true. He didn’t know what t’hy’la meant, but he recognised the love with which the word was said, his core convulsing in a pleasure he would not yet let himself express. Spock moved closer, his eyes flicking warily over Jim’s upturned face, and Jim reached out to settle his hands on either side of Spock’s waist, thumbs stroking over the material of his Science blues.

‘You… you kissed me before you left,’ Jim said throatily, daring to break the perfect silence. He stared up at Spock from under lowered eyelashes, swiping his tongue quickly over his lower lip and drawing a heated gaze. ‘Kiss me again.’

One of Spock’s hands rose, trembling, to press gently against his cheek, the other sliding round to his back to pull him closer. Jim closed his eyes at the exquisite feel of a cool palm on warm skin, slipping his arms around Spock as he moved closer, bursts of hot air exhaled onto his face at a speed that was so unlike Spock’s usual measured breathing. A nose nudged against his, and he kept his eyes shut tight, revelling in the intimacy that he had never previously been allowed, no desire for a quick fuck. Not this time. Spock was worth more than that. He couldn’t repress a quiet moan when Spock’s lips finally came into contact with his, a gentle butterfly brush that tested the waters more than anything. Jim tilted his head, changing the angle a little, pressing a tiny bit harder, and Spock shuddered against him, parting his lips. One of Jim’s hands went wandering as they exchanged soft, lazy kisses, first sneaking up to trace the arched line of Spock’s ear with his index finger, eliciting a quiet gasp, then pressing up against the hand on his face. Spock shuddered, pulling Jim’s lower lip into his mouth and sucking, his teeth gently worrying at it, until Jim went weak at the knees. He pulled away as Jim’s muscles became uncooperative, and as he opened his own, Jim saw gorgeous dark eyes wide with concern.

‘You are still unwell,’ Spock murmured, taking Jim’s hand in his own. Jim shook his head, smiling tremulously as he curled his fingers against Spock’s.

‘It’s just because I haven’t stood up properly in a while. Don’t worry.’ He brushed the thumb of his unoccupied hand against Spock’s cheekbone, barely believing that he was allowed to do it. ‘Spock… what does ‘t’hy’la’ mean?’

‘Friend,’ Spock rasped, and Jim’s hopes plummeted, until, ‘Brother. Lover. _Soulmate.’_

The last word was said so thickly, with such tangible adoration, that Jim couldn’t help but lean into him, feeling immense satisfaction at the embrace he was immediately folded into, and sucked gently at a patch of skin just under his jaw.

‘I love you,’ he whispered, closing his eyes against the stinging threat of tears as he realised that he could say the words without fear at last. Long fingers began carding their way through his hair, a soft kiss pressed to his temple.

‘As I love thee.’

Oh. _Ohhh._ Jim pressed himself closer, if that was even possible, trying to hide the tears that dribbled free without his consent.

‘James,’ Spock soothed, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest. ‘There is no need for tears now.’

Though Jim resisted, Spock managed to extract him from his neck for a moment to mouth at tear-stained cheeks, a thumb swiping under his eyes. Jim gripped one strong palm in both hands and kissed the centre of it, hard. Spock shivered, his ears and the high point of his cheekbones blooming green, and Jim smiled wickedly, the last of the tears drying in salt trails on his face.

‘So it’s true then. Vulcans and hands.’

‘Yes, t’hy’la.’

‘Spock?’ Jim whispered, as he stroked his thumbs across the base of his fingers. ‘Please tell me you want something permanent.’

‘All that I am is yours, now and forever. I am sorry that I hesitated for so long.’

Spock dislodged his hand from Jim’s grip and began stroking two fingers up and down his. Jim smiled as he reciprocated clumsily, chest bursting with happiness.

‘Why did you?’ he asked, the trails of Spock’s fingers making him shiver pleasantly. ‘Hesitate, I mean.’

‘At first it was because I did not believe myself worthy,’ Spock admitted.

‘What do you mean?’ Jim said incredulously. ‘You’re fucking perfect.’

Again, that beautiful blush returned, a shock of green against pale, pale skin.

‘Nobody is perfect, but if anyone were to be assigned that label, it would be you.’

Jim flushed with pleasure, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips as a reward.

‘That’s so sweet, baby,’ he crooned, ‘but what do you mean ‘not worthy’.’

‘I… I hurt you,’ Spock said disgustedly, looking as if he’d swallowed a lemon. ‘I marooned you on Delta Vega, then I attempted to strangle you when you returned. It is an unforgiveable offence to harm one’s t’hy’la.’

‘Spock, I wanted you to do that. I needed that to happen to get myself in the Captain’s chair. I forgave you even before it happened – and I _knew_ it was going to happen. What about after?’

‘Later, when I realised that our bond transcended every difficulty we have experienced, you were too unwell to be dealing with what might have been unwelcome advances.’

‘Unwelcome?’ Jim laughed, arching into a wet kiss against his pulse point. ‘Could I have made it any more obvious that I was in love with you?’

‘Perhaps not. But interpreting emotion has never been my forte,’ Spock shrugged, that little curl to his lips that Jim sometimes saw becoming a true (if small) smile.

‘Tell me more about t’hy’la.’

‘It is a bond like no other,’ Spock began quietly, holding him tight. ‘It is ancient, and rare; the most revered bond of my people.’

‘Are you sure I’m your t’hy’la?’ Jim asked weakly. ‘It doesn’t sound like something I’d qualify for.’

‘I am certain. Do not doubt yourself, ashayam.’

‘Ashayam? And how do you know?’

‘‘Ashayam’ means beloved,’ Spock said softly, and Jim felt a thrill at being so cherished. Then Spock’s gaze lowered, something like guilt passing over his face. ‘I knew because I had entered your mind when you were having nightmares.’

He cringed as he finished, perhaps expecting chastisement, but Jim only smiled, slipping his hand beneath Spock’s Science blues to stroke over the skin-tight fabric underneath.

‘Did you think I was going to be mad?’ he asked, leaning up to kiss Spock on the nose, which made him look adorably startled. ‘I’m not mad, I’m grateful. If you hadn’t done that, then not only would I have continued to suffer with my nightmares, but you wouldn’t have known that we are t’hy’las.’

‘T’hy’lara,’ Spock corrected absently, receiving a quick kiss for his troubles.

‘T’hy’lara then. Thank you, Spock. I love you.’

He expected that Spock might say ‘I know’, or admonish him for repeating himself, but instead, he smiled that little smile, and kissed him gently.

‘Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, t’hy’la,’ Spock murmured against his lips when he pulled away, so close that Jim had to close his eyes, overwhelmed. ‘I cherish thee.’

He dragged his lips along Jim’s jawline, then began trailing sucking kisses down the side of his neck.

‘I wanna see,’ Jim blurted, intoxicated by the fact that Spock _(Spock!)_ was leaving love bites above his collar line, marking him for everyone else to see. He gasped as Spock pulled back after a long, slow suck, feeling the cool air of his quarters hit newly-sensitive skin.

‘See what?’

‘The bond,’ Jim answered breathlessly, running a hand through silky black hair to mess it up, loving that Spock was letting him do it. ‘And Selek once showed me stuff with…’

Jim lifted a clumsy hand and placed his fingers in the vague areas that Selek once had, when he’d seen everything from the genesis of his relationship with the other Jim, to the inexpressible grief upon watching the death of his planet. Spock’s eyes were soft as he took Jim’s hand away and kissed his knuckles.

‘You wish to meld?’ he asked, letting Jim’s hand go in order to slot his fingers into place on his face.

‘Yes,’ Jim breathed, eyes closing briefly as his left temple was stroked, sending an unexpected spark of pleasure through him. ‘I want to show you everything. Want to see everything of you.’

‘Very well,’ Spock agreed, his voice deeper than Jim had ever heard it as he wrapped his other arm around Jim’s waist. ‘My mind to your mind…’

‘My thoughts to your thoughts,’ Jim continued, the words emerging from nowhere, and then they were falling together into the meld. It was a strange, wonderful sensation, and he could feel Spock guiding him as they arrived on what looked like Vulcan-that-was, memories flitting in front of them as they stood, ghostlike, on the hot sand. He held Spock’s hand as they watched a giggling Vulcan toddler, chased by his human mother, become a solemn, almost silent child, harassed by his peers.

_‘He's a traitor, you know, your father, for marrying her, that human whore.’_

Jim growled as he heard the filth pouring from their mouths, Spock stiffening by his side as he saw his younger self react violently.

‘If it’s worth anything, I’m proud of you,’ Jim whispered, squeezing his hand.

Spock relaxed minutely. ‘It is, always.’

Jim watched the boy become a teenager, the teenager become a man, all the while ridiculed, patronised, having to work harder than the rest for the same recognition. He watched as Spock overtook his classmates in all disciplines, securing a coveted place in the VSA, and whooped as he turned it down after yet another slur about his mother.

‘Fuck ’em for their ignorance.’

‘Most of them are now dead,’ Spock reminded him quietly.

‘Being dead doesn’t negate how they behaved.’

‘… That is true.’

They whizzed through Spock’s early years at the Academy, and it was Jim’s turn to stiffen when Nyota appeared, feeling a mix of nausea and subsequent guilt as their relationship developed into something romantic. Spock turned Jim’s face away for a moment, a gentle hand on his chin.

‘She is my friend,’ he murmured. _‘You_ are my t’hy’la.’

That fuzzy feeling was back, making Jim look up at him with gooey eyes, and they might have stayed like that had Jim not clocked the latest memory out of the corner of his eye. Their first meeting played out in front of them at speed, Spock’s words still stinging a little after all this time. That said, he couldn’t imagine what Spock had felt when he had told him that he had never loved his mother.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Jim said brokenly, watching the devastation on Spock’s face as his mother, and planet, were lost. He wrapped himself around Spock, cringing as he watched his own cruel words in rewind.

‘I am the one who should be apologising,’ Spock rasped, wrapping his arms tighter around him as his double was strangled on the Bridge. Jim shook his head.

‘You didn’t mean it,’ he insisted, putting a finger over Spock’s mouth as he went to speak. ‘Shhh.’

With eyes fixed on his, Spock pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss on the pad of it, the feel of plush, wet lips on his skin almost, _almost_ distracting Jim from Spock’s suicidal trip into the volcano of Nibiru.

‘I was so scared for you,’ he whispered.

‘I am here t’hy’la,’ Spock soothed, pressing Jim’s hand against his heart. ‘Feel me.’

The strong, rapid pulse in Spock’s side was enough to console him for the moment, but then Khan appeared, and Jim soon found himself watching the echo of him die in the radiation chamber, his breath stuttering as he saw Spock’s obvious desolation. He nuzzled into his Spock as he went rigid, the scream of his double ringing in Jim’s ears.

‘I lived,’ he reminded him softly.

‘Barely.’

Jim pressed a butterfly kiss to his lips in proof of his existence, watching the year that they were grounded speed by, their return to the Enterprise, and then Spock’s increasing desperation as he became ill. Jim’s heart clenched as he saw himself carried to bed in strong, gentle arms, Spock meditating away an erection, admitting what he felt to Nyota, plastered against Jim’s door listening to him cry, chasing the nightmares away with better memories… He saw Spock in tears after realising what they were to one another, and ached for all the time they had lost.

‘If you’d have told me then,’ he said quietly, hating to see him cry. ‘I’d have told you I love you on the spot.’

‘I was afraid. Afraid, and convinced of my own lack of worth.’

‘You’re mine, and you’re _perfect_ ,’ Jim whispered, leaning into the lips that caressed his neck, the lips that froze when Spock saw what came next. Jim only laughed, bright and blissful, as he watched Spock sate him in his feverish desire. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you never got a chance to finish- oh.’

He could feel Spock’s blush against his skin as they watched him frantically jerking off in the shower, and reached back to stroke his face in comfort.

‘You are not angry?’

‘Why should I be?’ Jim asked. ‘I love you, and I needed you. Perhaps I am a _little_ put out that I wasn’t awake though.’

He sneaked his hand downwards until it brushed over the front of Spock’s trousers, his own beginning to feel a little tight. Spock gasped, and tightened his arm around Jim’s waist.

‘Later,’ he promised thickly, the desire in his voice setting a fire in Jim’s belly. Every moment up until Jim’s seizure played out in fast forward, and then, as Jim watched himself writhe sightlessly on the bed, he could feel Spock tremble behind him.

‘I thought I had lost you for a second time.’

‘I’m alright,’ Jim soothed him, stroking over the arms that had coiled around his waist. Spock’s sleepless week went by in agonising detail, and when he could no longer bear it, Jim turned in his arms and kissed him soundly, rubbing his back as he shook. When they pulled away, Spock was blinking away tears, and Jim cradled his face in his hands for a long moment. ‘I’m okay, t’hy’la.’

He hoped he’d pronounced it right, but either way, Spock was smiling again.

‘My turn?’ he guessed, leaning in for another of those addictive kisses.

‘Yes, ashal-veh,’ Spock agreed, elucidating before Jim could ask. ‘Darling.’

Jim shuddered, the word having an unexpected effect on him, and soon found the world shifting around them. They now stood in a beautiful meadow, a golden sky above them, and Spock led him to a barrier he hadn’t seen.

‘This is your mind, Jim,’ he explained. ‘Do you still wish me to see your memories?’

Jim nodded, determined. ‘Everything.’

Spock took his hand as they began. It was a much more disorientating experience seeing his own memories played out in front of you, almost experiencing them again – he felt the rejection of his mother as he saw it in front of him, Sam’s blame, Frank’s appearance and the first time Winona left for space. He glanced back at Spock as his life became a cycle of abuse, Frank’s drink problem the impetus for his random attacks, and saw his mouth tighten with rage.

‘He’s dead, love,’ he said absently, feeling a little sick as he watched himself be smacked around for the hundredth time. ‘He can’t hurt me anymore.’

‘I wish that I could exact revenge upon him. It is not Vulcan, and yet it is my desire.’

Jim only squeezed his arm in response, struck dumb by the emergence of the memory of him taking his dad’s car, and being sent to Tarsus after Frank had thrown him through a window for it. As he relived the trauma of the famine and the subsequent genocide, he remained mute, turning and pushing his face into Spock’s neck as the guards approached him with their first depraved bargain. Spock rubbed a hand up and down his back, another stroking over his hair in comfort.

‘Do you wish to stop?’ he asked quietly.

‘N-no. Just tell me when it’s over, yeah?’

At Spock’s indication a few moments later, he turned to see himself emerge from hospital, weak in body but strong in mind, and go through his teenage years and early twenties in depressed debauchery, always looking for a cheap thrill to numb the loneliness he felt. Pike’s faith in him was the first bright moment in his life, quickly followed by meeting Bones, and as they skipped through what they had seen before in Spock’s memories, Jim was struck by how much happier his life on the Enterprise was compared to before.

‘God, I’m so pathetic,’ he laughed, embarrassed, as the full extent of his pining emerged.

‘You are nothing of the sort,’ Spock insisted, folding Jim into his arms once more. ‘I felt the same way.’

He nudged Spock as a memory of him jerking off flitted past.

‘See, not just you,’ he smiled, though the smile faded as he caught himself in tears again. ‘Jeez, did I ever stop crying?’

‘I am sorry, t’hy’la. I could have prevented so much grief.’

‘Not just your fault, baby,’ Jim said absently, cringing as he watched himself break down in Bones’ office. ‘I could have said something.’

Spock shook his head.

‘I was not displaying behaviour that would have assured you of my receptiveness.’

That was true. Jim hummed in vague agreement as he heard himself wax lyrical about Spock to Bones, an odd shift in the hip area behind him. _Oh._

‘Can we stop?’ he asked, turning away from the memory play.

‘Certainly.’

Spock took him by the hand again and brought him away from the barrier. He was walking a little awkwardly, and when Jim glanced down, he noticed a certain… growth in the pant area. Spock’s cheeks were green again, and for once, Jim decided to be kind and not mention it. Near to where they had begun, Spock pointed to a golden thread, twisting and shimmering in the light.

‘That is the bond,’ he said softly. ‘Before it approaches, however, I would like to talk to you outside of the meld.’

‘Sure,’ Jim replied, bemused, and in moments, they were back in Jim’s quarters. He blinked away the sudden onset of tears, nodding at Spock’s murmur of ‘emotional transference’, and dropped onto the bed, pulling Spock to sit beside him, watching him expectantly.

‘The t’hy’la bond,’ Spock began, ‘is no simple connection. If we are to indulge ourselves by letting it connect us, you must know that is a marriage bond in itself.’

‘A marriage bond…’

Jim’s heart leapt in longing, a shiver of joy wracking him as he realised that he could be bound to the man he loved forever. A year ago, that would have scared the shit out of him. No longer. Spock must have interpreted his demeanour as negative, because he backtracked -

‘No matter what, you are my t’hy’la. If you do not wish-’

‘Spock,’ Jim laughed, choking on his own tears. He cupped Spock’s face in trembling hands. ‘Yes, Spock, _yes.’_

A year ago, if anyone had told him he would agree to marry someone before they'd even slept together, he'd have told them that they were mad. But Spock - _oh,_ there was nothing he didn't want with Spock. There was that unexpected smile once more, kissed right off his face as Jim threw himself forward, ending up cuddled in Spock’s lap.

‘Jim, there is more,’ Spock attempted to get out, in between hungry kisses. Jim allowed him a brief moment of respite, their breathing laboured. ‘We will always be able to feel as the other feels, and communicate within our minds, at least until you are adequate enough at shielding.’

‘That’s so awesome,’ Jim panted, rocking his hips up against Spock’s as he felt himself harden.

‘Jim!’ Spock squeaked, grabbing his hips and holding them still. ‘You must listen. What do you know of the Vulcan time of mating?’

‘Um. Nothing?’

There were whispers, always whispers, but he’d never heard anything he believed at the Academy.

‘It is named ‘Pon Farr’,’ Spock explained, his voice hoarse with arousal. ‘It occurs approximately once every seven years, and involves the necessity to mate repeatedly over an average of two days.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Jim shrugged, surprised that Vulcans would have to succumb to a ritual as illogical as that.

‘No, Jim, it is not. There is no choice in the matter. Once the blood fever stirs within me, I _must_ mate with my bonded, sometimes brutally, or I will die.’

More serious now, Jim nodded, taking his hands in his own.

‘I understand,’ he whispered, making sure to keep eye contact. ‘But I would do anything for you, Spock. Anything at all.’

After a long, searching look, Spock leant forward and pressed his lips gently against Jim’s, interlacing their fingers.

‘You would bond with me?’ he asked when they broke apart, his voice shaking. Jim nodded wordlessly, trembling with desire in his lap. ‘Then you perhaps will be pleased to know that bonding involves intercourse?’

Jim laughed in delight, and kissed him again, the muscles in his legs still shaking from their lack of use. He lapped his way into Spock’s mouth, so perfectly cool and wet, so unlike his own. He mapped out the contours of his mouth, tracing his tongue over his palate in firm, long strokes, and delighting in the resulting shudder. Spock soon took control, assaulting Jim with kisses so deep he felt he might drown in them, and eased him down onto the bed. When his lungs were screaming, Jim wrenched himself away for a moment to gasp in a much-needed breath, his dick pushing insistently against his zipper as he saw how swollen Spock’s lips had become. He traced his index finger over Spock’s plush bottom lip, and moaned in appreciation as it was taken into his mouth and suckled for a long moment, released with a wet pop.

‘Clothes,’ he gasped, tugging at Spock’s collar. Spock allowed him to lift his Science blues up and off, and he fingered the material of the undershirt in question, suddenly desperate for bare skin. Spock sat back on his heels and pulled it over his head, lean muscles flexing deliciously.

‘Fuck…’

Jim stared with hungry eyes at the pale skin revealed to him, running his hands from slim hips to hard, green-flushed nipples, threading his way through thick hair. He didn’t think he had a thing for chest hair, but apparently his dick thought otherwise; as Spock bent to suck yet another love bite into his neck, and he combed his fingers through it, his erection was becoming painfully compressed.

‘I wish to see you too, k’diwa,’ Spock purred, and Jim lifted his arms to let him tug off the last layer between their upper bodies, gasping as Spock immediately zeroed in on his nipples. He wanted to know what that word meant, but he would rather face a trio of Gorns than stop that wonderful mouth. Spock suckled at him as if for milk, teeth lightly scraping at a sensitive peak until he writhed, before swapping sides and starting all over again. Before long, Jim was moaning with each new pull, rocking against the thigh between his legs, and he whined in disappointment when Spock surfaced.

‘All will be well, my Jim.’

Spock gave him a brief, consolatory kiss, before he began trailing his mouth down Jim’s stomach slowly, occasionally finding a spot to worry at for a while, all lips and teeth and tongue. Jim didn’t think he’d ever been so hard, especially when Spock dipped his tongue in his navel, then dragged it down, _so_ close to where he needed to be.

‘You’re so good at this,’ Jim moaned, hips arching of their own accord. ‘How are you so good at this?’

‘I have done the appropriate research,’ Spock told him, and damn, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever heard – Spock getting ready to be with him, Spock learning about what to do when he took him to bed – and it made him all the harder. All trails of thought came to a complete standstill when Spock blew a little air over the skin just above his waistband, a question in his eyes.

‘Yes,’ Jim whimpered, tangling his fingers in the soft cap of black hair between his thighs. ‘Yes, Spock, please.’

Dextrous fingers worked open his button and zippers in a matter of seconds, and Jim was sure he heard fabric tearing as his pants were removed. Spock crawled up over him like a panther, giving him a brief, intense kiss, before licking his way down his chest and stomach. He paused for a moment, hovering, before leaning in and mouthing over the tent in his boxers. Jim whimpered, letting his knees go slack in submission, and clutched at his hair, conscious not to pull after remembering the reaction last time he had. He felt fit to explode already, and when Spock curled his fingers under his waistband, he nodded desperately, watching Spock’s pupils dilate as his cock bobbed free of its confines.

‘Spock, _please,’_ he begged, as one long, pale finger traced its way from root to tip, then circled the head, spreading pre-come over it.

‘I would enjoy you, t’hy’la,’ Spock purred, placing a wet, open-mouthed kiss near the base. ‘Time, for once, is _not_ of the essence.’

Jim’s back arched as the kisses ascended, hips flicking up in tiny, abortive movements, and he moaned low in his throat when Spock moved back to blow cool air over the tip. _Fuck,_ he was gonna go off like a rocket. He’d wanted Spock for so long that he felt he could come from just watching that pretty mouth descend on him, lips parting to accommodate him. He cried out embarrassingly loud when he felt the head of his cock engulfed in cool wetness, Spock’s eyes, wide and black with desire, connecting with his. As he watched with his own eyes half-lidded, Spock suckled hard, and then – _oh!_ – he began inching his way down, until he bottomed out. A high-pitched whine forced its way out of Jim’s throat, and he couldn’t help but rock upwards into that heavenly mouth. Spock’s hands settled on his hips, iron-hard, and where a human pair might have had some give, there was none. Jim could only lie there, crying out, hands scrabbling at his hair, as he began bobbing his head, torturously slow.

‘Please, Spock, please,’ he panted, something in his belly beginning to tighten deliciously. ‘Want to come, need to come, _please,_ baby.’

He was desperate, and Spock must have known, because he ramped up the speed a little, allowing Jim just the slightest bit of leeway under strong hands. It was enough. Jim thrust up into that gorgeous mouth as clever fingers pressed against his perineum, and he was _gone._

‘Love you, Spock, love you,’he babbled, feeling his balls begin to draw up. _‘_ Fuck! _Please,_ sweetheart, ‘mgonna _come!’_

Jim cried out in ecstasy as the waves of pleasure reached their peak, and he unwound all at once in powerful orgasm, hips jerking wildly as he came hard. It was a long moment before he could speak again, coming down slowly as Spock swallowed around him, not releasing Jim until he whined from oversensitivity. He cleaned Jim off with his tongue, avoiding the weak hands that flapped at him in protest, before rising back up to lie by his side, lips descending over his. Jim kissed him hard, finding the taste of his own come strangely erotic as he curled his tongue around Spock’s. They broke apart panting, and Jim slipped his hand down to palm at his clothed erection, squeezing lightly until he gasped.

‘You’re so amazing. Never come so hard,’ he whispered heatedly, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and relishing in the subsequent moan. There was less urgency now, Spock obviously able to control his carnal urges more than Jim. Their kisses were slower, deeper, and Jim moaned, love-drunk, as Spock rocked into the hand that squeezed rhythmically at his crotch. He broke the kiss to gasp in a ragged lungful of air.

‘Need you naked,’ he breathed, running his fingers reverently down Spock’s face, and loving that he closed his eyes under the gentle touch. Spock obliged him, first kicking off the boots he wore, then rolling off Jim to divest himself of his socks and pants. There was a sizeable bulge in his briefs, and he froze as Jim moulded his hand over it, half-hard again. ‘Off.’

Spock pushed his briefs down and stepped out of them, and Jim immediately went in for the kill, his mouth watering as he stared at the long, thick cock in front of him, double-ridged, flushed a deep green and dripping.

‘Holy shit.’

He guided Spock forward by pushing on his ass and took his erection in hand, stomach fizzing with excitement when he felt the slick feel of it gliding through his fingers. Spock gasped at his touch, hips rocking into him, and another clear pearl seeped from the tip. God, he wanted to taste that slick. He pushed on his ass again until he could reach it with his mouth, lapping up what glistened on the head. _Christ,_ it was sweet. Spock moaned, and Jim took pity on him, taking him into his mouth as much as he could without gagging, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head a few times, before releasing him with a lewd pop.

‘C’mere,’ he beckoned, holding out his arms. Spock crawled into them, settling in the cradle of his hips, and staring down at him with adoring eyes. Jim kissed him gently, feeling star-bright, so full up with love he felt he might burst.

‘Want you to make love to me so bad,’ he whispered, flushing beet red at his own ridiculous sappiness. Embarrassed though Jim was, Spock’s eyes were soft and brimming with adoration, and strong, sure hands slid down his thighs from knee to hip.

‘I want to make love to you too.’

Jim shuddered, rising to take his lips again as he arched into each caress, thighs trembling with something he was sure wasn’t mere muscle weakness. Spock’s mouth broke from his and trailed down his neck, kissing, licking, biting gently, and in his oversensitive state, Jim was hard-pressed to repress his whimpering.

‘Let me hear you, James,’ Spock muttered against his collarbone, dipping his tongue into the depression and dragging it to his sternum. Willing to obey, Jim gasped as his nipples were teased again, mouth sucking and pulling softly until he doubted they’d ever feel the same again. Spock touched him like he was a fragile thing, made of glass instead of bones and blood and sinew, and he loved it. Nobody had ever thought him to be fragile before.

‘Love you,’ he breathed again, as Spock reached his left hipbone and began nibbling on it. ‘Love you so much.’

‘As I love you, taluhk. My precious one.’

Jim trailed two fingers up Spock’s jaw and over the curve of his ear, then rubbed his thumb over the point of it, amazed that he was allowed to do so. Spock looked up from between his thighs, flushed pretty green from ears to chest.

‘What do you want, James?’ he asked, voice rough with arousal.

There was no hesitation. Jim scrabbled in his drawer to find the lube and pushed it into his hand.

‘Want you inside me.’

Spock’s eyes were dark and intense as he took the bottle, a frown passing over his face for a mere second before he schooled his features again. Jim was baffled, until he saw the amount left inside and grinned.

‘I’ve been using it on myself, darling,’ he laughed, taking a leaf out of Bones’ book. ‘When you got me all hot and bothered, I’d come back and finger myself into oblivion. Pretend it was you.’

Spock growled, snatching the laugh from his lips in an ardent kiss. He was panting when they broke apart, the plastic of the lube bottle warping in his hand.

‘Have you ever been penetrated before?’ he asked, then froze. His face crumpled, and Jim saw both guilt and pain flit across his expression before he settled on distraught. ‘Jim, I am-’

‘Shhh,’ Jim cooed, cupping his cheeks. Beyond a brief jolt, Spock’s question had not affected him. He would not let the shadows of his past ruin this for him. For them. ‘As far as I’m concerned, no, I haven’t. Just… be gentle, okay?’

‘Always, t’hy’la,’ Spock replied, voice rough with emotion. He placed a final soft kiss against Jim’s lips, before descending again. Jim heard the pop of the cap, and jumped as a cold, slick finger pressed lightly against his hole.

‘Jim?’

‘M’fine,’ he mumbled, beginning to relax as Spock started circling his the pad of his finger, no pressure. ‘Just a bit cold.’

‘I am sorry.’

Jim might have told him not to worry about it, had he not then sucked one of Jim’s balls into his mouth, rolling it over his tongue. Jim’s dick began to clamour for attention again. Spock released him in the same moment that he pushed his finger in to the first knuckle, mouth moving up to nip at the sensitive skin between hip and thigh. Jim gasped in encouragement, and as he met no resistance, Spock sank his finger in fully. It was vaguely uncomfortable – always was at first – but it didn’t hurt. He met Spock’s eyes, sharp and concerned as he began to move his finger, and smiled, running a hand through his hair. The gentle movements were searching, and he pushed his hips up to help, knowing his own anatomy intimately well.

_‘Ah!’_

As he excelled at everything else, so Spock excelled at this, exuding smugness as fireworks went off behind Jim’s eyes. Jim began rocking his hips in earnest, desperate for that pleasure again.

‘Another?’ Spock murmured.

 _‘Yeah,’_ Jim said breathlessly, and as Spock obliged him, he took Jim’s cock in his mouth again, rubbing his tongue over the frenulum in a way that made Jim’s thighs shake. The brief stretch and burn faded quickly, Spock’s gentle scissoring motions and the heavenly suction on his cock leaving him begging for more.

‘More?’ Spock questioned, after letting Jim’s erection slip from his mouth.

‘Mmmm.’

The next one came with a flash of pain. Jim’s thighs went taut, and Spock stopped immediately, his eyes flicking up to meet his.

‘Do you wish me to stop?’

‘No,’ Jim grunted, forcing himself to relax. He’d never had three in himself before, too freaked out by the discomfort of the second – this was new. Spock mouthed at his sensitive inner thighs, sucking another love bite into the skin there as Jim bore down, finding that it didn’t hurt anymore. He sighed in relief, starting to push his hips down again, and Spock’s mouth returned to his wilted erection. Before long, he was writhing, fucking himself on Spock’s fingers, chasing the sparks of pleasure that hit whenever they came into contact with his prostate.

‘I’m ready,’ he whined, unable to stop his hips from bucking. Spock rose up to kiss him, fingers still working their magic. ‘Please, Spock, I’ll-’

He was cut off by that talented mouth again, orgasm fast approaching. He moaned a muffled warning, only to be caught on the very edge by a strong grip around the base of his dick, warding his pleasure off. Jim pulled away, trembling, as he tried to calm himself. Spock kissed him on the nose, lips turning up at the corners, and let go of his erection.

‘That was damn close,’ Jim breathed, tracing shaking fingers across his cheekbone.

‘Yes,’ Spock agreed, tensing and moaning as Jim tugged on his dick, his meaning clear. ‘Do you wish me to use a prophylactic?’

Jim shook his head, staring at the glistening slick left on his fingers. ‘I’m clean, so are you. C’mon, let’s de-virginise you.’

‘I do not believe that that is a word.’

Jim grinned into his mouth, legs opening wider, and cradled Spock’s face in his hands.

‘Come on, t’hy’la,’ he whispered. ‘I want you.’

Spock’s eyes remained fixed on Jim’s as he hooked an elbow under his knee and took himself in hand, slicking himself up with lube, before pressing up against his hole. Jim shuddered in want, tangling their hands together when one was offered to him. They both gasped as Spock pushed forward, slow and measured, the pain much less than Jim had expected. Once Spock was fully inside, he stilled, hovering over Jim as he panted, perfect hair in disarray.

‘Jim?’

‘Yeah, just give me a minute, baby.’

‘I will wait as long as you wish.’

Jim kissed him sloppily as he tried to adjust to the fullness within him, and the echo of panic that came with it. But Spock’s hands were gentle, never forceful, and he smelled fresh and clean and heated like Jim imagined Vulcan had; it didn’t take long for him to relax. There was almost too much lube, and the slight burn of before had faded into a pleasant stretch, so Jim tested the waters by bearing down a little. No pain. Spock broke the kiss to watch him, deep brown eyes shot through with both lust and concern, mouth open in a little ‘o’ shape which made Jim’s dick twitch.

 _‘Yeah…_ now, Spock,’ he said breathily, squeezing his hand.

‘Are you certain, t’hy’la? I can- _ah!’_

Feeling mischievous, Jim clenched his muscles around him, whispering, ‘I’m sure.’

Spock nodded, shuddering as he began to pull out and push back in slowly, his pleasure voiced in the form of the sexiest groan Jim had ever heard. The stretching feeling was still there, a little uncomfortable, but Jim didn’t care. Watching Spock’s face contort in passion as he pulled out nearly all the way and drove back in at an angle was enough of an aphrodisiac, and when he brushed against Jim’s prostate on his third thrust, the flash of ecstasy was enough for Jim to cry out, pushing back against him in encouragement. Spock obviously knew when he was onto a good thing, aiming at it again and again as he thrust slow and deep, refusing to rush no matter how much Jim begged for it, kissing away his impatience.

 _‘Spock!’_ Jim wailed, the pleasure blinding him, hiscock weeping untouched on his stomach as he was slowly screwed into the mattress. He spread his legs wider in an effort to take him even deeper, clutching his hair with one hand as he stroked his fingers along the back of Spock’s hand with the other, even as they were laced together. Spock moaned with each new thrust, his face beautifully uninhibited, wild with passion, and as his hazy eyes met Jim’s, he brought his hand up to kiss, before placing it down and brushing against his meld points.

‘Do it,’ Jim gasped. ‘Bond us.’

‘This is forever, Jim,’ Spock warned through gritted teeth.

‘I want forever.’

It was true. Spock leant down and kissed him hard, lapping into his mouth as he finally, _finally_ sped up his movements, and at the same time, he fixed his fingers into place.

‘My mind to your mind.’

‘My thoughts to your thoughts,’ Jim finished, and their minds came together in a blaze of passion. He could feel what Spock was feeling, the depth of his love and his amazement that Jim loved him, and the golden ribbon that he knew was the bond shot forth from inside him and was accepted at last. Their arrival back on the physical plane was heralded by a surge of ecstasy that took Jim’s breath away, and as Spock pounded into him, broken sounds of pleasure falling from his open mouth, Jim could feel how close he was too.

‘Fuck!’ Jim sobbed, as Spock’s hand wrapped itself around his dick. ‘Fuck, t’hy’la, you’re so good, so fucking good. Gonna make me come so hard.’

Spock shuddered above him, redoubling his efforts, and with a twist to the head of his dick and a hard thrust to his prostate, Jim fell apart. He wailed Spock’s name as his balls tightened, five strong pulses of semen splattering over his stomach and Spock’s hand, which wrung every last drop from him. He dimly heard Spock’s own cry, and the warm flood inside of him as he came, muscles still taut as he gently pulled out. Through the haze of pleasure, it took a moment for Jim to realise why.

‘Fuck, baby, you’re still hard?’

Much as he’d enjoyed it, he was a still pretty sore, but the shame on Spock’s face and in his mind as he tried to pull away set him off cooing sweet nothings through the bond.

 _I love you so much,_ he thought as he took him in hand, the ever-present slick and residual semen making it an easy job.

_As I love you, t’hy’la._

Spock groaned as he gave into the pleasure, thrusting himself through the tight circle of Jim’s fingers. His eyes were searching and desperate, and Jim sympathised.

 _Look at what you made me do,_ he whispered, testing their connection as he dragged his index finger through the pool of semen on his stomach. _Look how hard you made me come._

He popped his finger into his mouth and sucked on it, moaning obscenely. Spock groaned, eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure, and Jim decided to pull out the big guns. He spread the pre-come over the head of Spock’s dick with his thumb, and spread his legs again, suppressing a wince as he gingerly dipped two fingers inside his sore hole and let a trickle of semen drool out.

‘Look what you did, Spock,’ he whispered, revelling in his broken sob as his hand quickened. ‘Never let anyone come inside me before.’

He dragged a little more out, feeling it drip down from the rim onto his sheets.

 _Wanted your seed inside me,_ he thought, a flush coming to his cheeks as he realised how much it was true. _You gonna replace it for me?_

He guided Spock forward until the head of his cock was up against his hole, and tightened his grip as he stroked.

 _‘Jim,’_ Spock choked, his eyes losing focus as he pushed right up against him and came in hot spurts, muscles taut and tremoring. He collapsed almost on top of Jim when he was done, catching himself at the last second, and kissed him soundly, gentle and loving as he sucked Jim’s tongue into his mouth and thumbed over a sensitive nipple. Jim could feel his contentment, his gratitude, and his breath-taking love filtering through the bond, and tried, in his own clumsy way, to transmit his own across. He knew he had succeeded when he felt a fresh wave of adoration, Spock’s deep affection warming him right down to the core. He pressed a final few butterfly kisses against Spock’s receptive lips and relaxed facing him, exhausted.

‘Is that a Vulcan thing?’ he asked, letting Spock trail two fingers up and down his own. ‘The fact that you came twice, I mean.’

Spock smiled faintly, kissing his knuckles before getting out of bed. Jim watched him go through the bathroom door in dismay, fear quickening his heart, until he felt a warm rush of reassurance come through the bond.

_Hush, t’hy’la. I am returning._

‘I believe it is a ‘you’ thing,’ Spock finally answered, coming back into the room with a washcloth in hand. ‘We have no refractory period, but that does not guarantee further arousal.’

‘No refractory period, huh?’ Jim grinned. ‘I’m gonna have so much fun with that.’

Spock ducked his head, pretty green blush returning as he knelt on the bed and began wiping the pooled semen from Jim, paying close attention to his softened cock.

 _Fuck, you’re so beautiful,_ Jim smiled. _Look at you._

_I believe there is a Terran idiom involving pots and kettles that would be appropriate here, Jim._

Jim laughed outloud, gloriously happy, barely wincing as Spock dabbed the cloth around his sore hole.

‘How do you say ‘I love you’ in Vulcan again?’ he asked, as Spock discarded the cloth in the waste disposal unit and returned to bed, long limbs encasing him as he settled against Spock’s chest.

‘Taluhk nash-veh k’dular,’ Spock murmured, stroking Jim’s back slowly. ‘It is a declaration of love between bondmates.’

Jim snuggled into him and whispered it as best he could, basking in the love he felt between them, running through the bond on a feedback loop. He had wondered for a moment earlier how he would take to it, wondered if he would find it difficult, but it was as if he had always had this with Spock. As if he were born to have this with Spock.

‘Are you going to be here when I wake up?’ he asked quietly, after Spock turned down the lights.

‘Always, t’hy’la.’

Affection bloomed in his chest, in his head, and was returned, the bond a wonderful comfort blanket all of its own. With forever in mind, he felt Spock’s arms tighten around him, and placed a hand over his heart, the slow, steady beat sending him into dreams he truly couldn’t wait to wake up from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disgustingly sappy, don't you agree? I think it was about time though. Really hope you guys enjoyed it - please let me know if you did! If you want, you can check me out on [Tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/) where I spend most of my time boldly going, and I hope you have a nice week! :)
> 
> EDIT: One more chapter to go guys!!!


	20. Such A Heavenly View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have posted this chapter a little earlier, had I not been stupefied by the grief of the brilliant Leonard Nimoy passing away. So many of us are in mourning, and our pain is still very raw, but he will be loved and remembered for a long time to come. This chapter is dedicated to Leonard, and the character he brought to life - Spock is his legacy. 
> 
> This is the final chapter of this fic, and I have written more for you guys to read in the note below. Warnings are for sexual content and horrendous amounts of sappiness. Also, there's a mention of the hypothetical carrying of kids with an 'implant', in case that squicks you out. I hope you enjoy :)

Upon waking, Spock’s internal chronometer informed him that it was 9.36 A.M. This was unusual, as he seemed to have overslept by 2.6 hours. What was even more unusual was the pleasantly warm bundle located atop his chest, and as Spock regained his mental faculties, his hand drifted across soft golden hair, and he remembered the night previous. A powerful wave of emotion surged in him as he recalled their joining, powerful enough, apparently, for Jim to stir, sleepy blue eyes fluttering open and confusion flowing across their link.

_Just a dream,_ Spock caught, and a feeling of misery so potent that his stomach clenched in response to it.

‘No, Jim,’ Spock murmured, gathering all the love he felt and pushing it across the bond. ‘It is not a dream.’

He bent his head at a rather awkward angle to kiss warm, sleep-soft lips, taking joy from Jim’s renewed ecstasy in his realisation that this was true. Jim moaned into his mouth, and Spock swiped his tongue across the seam of his lips before withdrawing, and stroking two fingers down his cheek.

‘Good morning,’ Jim said softly, shifting to lie more fully atop him. His tone became one of awe. ‘You stayed with me. All night.’

‘You asked me to. However, I would have desired to do so whether you had asked or not.’

Jim smiled, and took his lips in another sweet kiss, short and chaste. Despite his obvious contentment, there was an undercurrent of apprehension there, minimal, but rising.

‘Jim, are you conflicted?’ Spock asked, running his hands down the smooth expanse of Jim’s back. He couldn’t help but allow his own responding dread to surface, not wishing to frighten Jim off by blocking his side of the bond before he had been taught to do so himself.

‘Don’t panic,’ Jim begged, reaching up to cradle his face in his hands. ‘I’m not regretting anything. I love you, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I just… are you sure you want this with me?’

And _there_ it was. The insecurity that so few saw beneath his cocky demeanour. Spock gently removed Jim’s hands from his face and kissed the pad of each finger, reverent in the worship of his t’hy’la. Jim shivered as if he were Vulcan. Perhaps the nerve endings in his fingers were not the same, but Spock could feel his desire rising nonetheless.

Once his lips were free, Spock tried to soothe his worries. ‘Jim-’

‘I mean, I can’t give you children,’ Jim babbled, interrupting blindly. ‘Not naturally, anyway. I _could_ have one of those artificial wombs implanted, and while I’m not necessarily opposed to the idea, you might not want-’

_‘Jim,’_ Spock cut across, placing his index finger against Jim’s lips, ‘if we decide to have children, it will not matter how, because they will be ours. However, are you in want of an infant right now?’

Whilst the thought of Jim swollen with child was certainly tempting, with such a feat only possible with extensive medical intervention, he had evidently not bonded with him for procreation purposes. Jim raised his eyebrows as he inadvertently sent that image across the bond, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

‘I’d like to wait until the end of the five-year mission, I think, whether one of us has the op or we adopt or whatever. But I didn’t bond with you for kids either, obviously.’

Spock skimmed a hand down Jim’s side and cupped his hip, thumb brushing over the bone.

‘Do not doubt that I want to be with you, t’hy’la. I bonded with you because I love you, and because you are my k'hat'n'dlawa, half of my heart and soul.’

Jim’s smile grew until he was beaming widely, cheeks flushed pink.

‘And here’s me thinking that you bonded with me for my looks,’ he joked, kissing Spock’s sternum.

‘It is true that I find you highly desirable,’ Spock growled, pulling him up by the hips to kiss him hard, his need reawakened. Jim sighed into his mouth, kissing him back sloppily as he rose onto elbows and knees, tongue flicking against blunt teeth and teasing the sensitive skin under Spock’s own. As Spock shuddered, grinding his awakening erection against Jim’s, Jim threaded his fingers into Spock’s hair and tugged. A sudden bolt of arousal went through him, and he gasped, sending Jim off-balance as he bucked his hips.

‘You like that, huh?’ Jim asked smugly, tearing their lips apart. ‘I thought I’d hurt you last time.’

‘It is pleasurable,’ Spock admitted, tightening his grip on Jim’s hips when he did it again.

‘Yeah? What do you want, t’hy’la? You want me to ride you?’

Jim rolled his hips shamelessly, mouth falling open in pleasure, and he moaned when Spock took hold of his erection and spread the pre-come that he found there over the head with his thumb. Spock considered as he distracted his t’hy’la.

‘No,’ he eventually decided, flushing green, and his next words filtered through their connection.

_I want you to fill me._

Jim groaned aloud, his lust spiking and infecting Spock, who arched beneath him.

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, Jim. I wish us to be equal in this,’ Spock said breathlessly, as his neck was assaulted with kisses, a tongue sliding wetly over his ear. ‘I cherish thee, ashayam.’

‘Yeah, I love you too, baby,’ Jim whispered, nibbling and sucking on his ear tip until he whined, letting go of Jim’s penis in order to clutch at his hair. Spock felt like he was on fire - a wholly illogical assertion, he knew – and as Jim’s lust reverberated through the bond, so too did his. He gasped as a warm wet mouth latched over his right nipple, looking down into eyes almost black with arousal, a thin ring of bright blue remaining around blown pupils. Jim sucked hard, tongue sliding around his areola, and then he backed off to blow hot air over the stiffened peak.

‘Sensitive?’ he grinned, as Spock jerked, his breathing ragged.

‘Apparently so.’

The other nipple was duly serviced, and Spock began panting, sliding his slick erection against the strong thigh between his legs as Jim left his chest with a soft suck and blew into the small aperture at his navel.

_‘Jim,’_ he groaned, frustration growing as his jutting cock was evaded with remarkable success.

‘Patience, darling,’ Jim grinned, pressing a gentle kiss against his frenulum, and making him squirm. ‘I know you hadn’t had sex ‘til last night, but have you ever used your fingers or anything?’

Spock blushed, shaking his head.

‘Alright, sweetheart,’ Jim acknowledged, and promptly licked a stripe up his cock, humming. Spock's Vulcan side told him that Jim's endearments were illogical, unnecessary, but he squirmed in delight nonetheless, taking particular pleasure in his evident devotion.

_You taste so good. All this slick, oh my god._

Before Spock could reply, verbally or otherwise, his brain short-circuited as Jim sealed his lips around his glans and suckled hard. He moaned, expending an exorbitant amount of effort in trying to stop his hips from jerking up and hurting him. Jim’s eyes flicked up to his, glazed with desire, as he slowly lowered his head, taking more in. Spock twisted his hand in Jim’s hair, the warm, wet suction delicious, but when his t’hy’la choked, he pulled him off.

‘Sorry,’ Jim said hoarsely, face flushed and eyes wet. Shame seeped through the bond. ‘You managed it really well – twice!’

‘It is of no consequence,’ Spock insisted, his heart hammering in his side. ‘I have greater muscle control, and yours will come with practice.’

He stroked Jim’s face, pushing his love and reassurance through the link. Jim turned to kiss his palm, and then his fingers, sending delightful shivers through him.

‘I could get you off just like this, couldn’t I?’ Jim grinned, evidently feeling his arousal. He took Spock’s wrist in both hands and licked the pad of his index finger, eliciting a soft gasp. ‘Bet you could have got off with your fingers in me last night.’

_That was a distinct possibility,_ Spock admitted, moaning quietly as Jim took both his index and middle fingers into his mouth to suck on. He could feel the approach of his orgasm already, each breath becoming a gasp as he watched his fingers plunge in and out of that hot mouth. Jim’s saliva was dribbling down onto his palm, and when he swiped his tongue roughly against the webbing between his fingers, Spock pulled them from his mouth, afraid that he would come.

‘Too much?’ Jim whispered, stroking his stomach.

‘I would have orgasmed.’

‘Aww, is that it?’ Jim grinned, darting down to quickly drag his tongue over the head of his cock. ‘God, I can’t get enough of that. Anyway, isn’t that my goal? To make you come?’

‘Too soon,’ Spock gasped, as Jim lapped at his scrotum.

‘Never too soon, t’hy’la.’

He tensed as Jim stroked delicately over his hole with one finger, unable to suppress his nerves.

‘We don’t have to,’ Jim offered. ‘There’s loads of other stuff we could do.’

‘No, I want to.’

Jim nodded, sliding down the bed.

‘Well, I can make this easier for you anyway. Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.’

He did so, and Jim put a pillow beneath his lower back, pushing his legs up until they were near his chest. His heart was fluttering in his side, anticipation and anxiety warring within.

‘Shhh, t’hy’la, relax,’ Jim cooed, giving his cock a quick stroke. ‘I’m not even going to use my fingers yet, and if you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll stop straight away, alright?’

‘Yes,’ Spock said breathlessly, moaning as Jim mouthed at his scrotum. He was a little confused when that hot mouth continued to descend, his knees pushed up and apart, but then Jim’s thumbs slipped into his cleft to expose his hole, and a warm, wet tongue swiped over it.

_‘Jim!’_ Spock squealed, in shock. He attempted to squirm away, but as Jim repeated his actions, he felt himself twitch in unexpected pleasure, and was unable to.

‘Shhh, sweetheart,’ Jim muttered into his thigh. ‘Gonna open you up for me.’

A wave of reassurance passed between them as Jim sealed his lips over Spock’s hole and sucked, the flat of his tongue dragging over sensitive skin. Spock keened, feeling the muscle begin to relax, and he tangled his hands in soft, golden hair, tugging in time with Jim’s gentle assault. At first, he tried to stifle his verbalisations, repressing a whine as Jim licked into him, tongue lapping insistently until he felt himself loosen, but it was soon too much to keep quiet. Jim pulled away for a moment as he cried out, saliva shining on his chin.

‘That’s right, sweetheart, show me your pleasure,’ he grinned, before descending again and laving his tongue slowly over Spock’s twitching hole.

‘Jim, _please,’_ Spock begged, not entirely sure what he was begging for, but then he felt Jim’s tongue penetrate him, thrusting in and out in simulation of intercourse, and knew it was _that._

_Tell me what you’re feeling, Spock,_ Jim demanded through the bond, devilish mouth still working its magic. _Out loud._

‘I-’ Spock began, voice cracking as his erection throbbed, Jim’s tongue pushing so far in that Spock wondered briefly how he was breathing. ‘I can’t- it feels…’

_Tell me, t’hy’la._

‘So good,’ Spock sobbed, abandoning all propriety and rolling his hips down, down, down into that amazing wet heat. ‘It’s so good, Jim, _please!’_

He clutched at the sheets as one of Jim’s hands came up and wrapped around his cock, an obscene squelch heralding each new upstroke as he twisted his palm around the head. Stomach tensing in the precursor to orgasm, he wasn’t sure which pleasure to rock into, that clever tongue fucking him, or the hand on his cock squeezing with just enough pressure.

_You going to come for me, sweetheart?_

_Yes, Jim, **yes!**_

As Jim’s tongue stabbed into him ever faster, hand flying into a blur over his erection, Spock’s back arched and he gasped for breath, thighs trembling.

_‘Close,’_ he choked, desperately pulling at Jim’s hair.

_Alright, baby._

As he writhed, Jim redoubled his efforts, and when he twisted his tongue and his hand at the same time, Spock shrieked as he came so hard he shook from the force of it. His vision blurred as semen pulsed thickly from him, dimly aware of Jim milking him until he was spent. He lay boneless and pliant in the afterglow, humming in vague pleasure as Jim dragged his tongue up his stomach, cleaning up his mess.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Jim whispered, in between kisses that made their way from stomach to sternum. ‘I know I said it last night, but _god,_ your face when you come…’

Dazed, Spock merely presented his neck to be kissed, gasping as Jim sucked a love bite into delicate skin. He balked a little when Jim’s lips came up to recapture his, but all he got was amusement from his t’hy’la’s side of the bond.

_Oh come on, Spock, you’re always clean,_ Jim told him, as he submitted to the insistent tongue that dragged over the seam of his lips. _Every part of you._

Spock acquiesced and suckled gently on that hard-working muscle, arousal rekindling as he felt Jim’s erection slide the length of his, heard Jim’s breath catch and the moan low in his throat.

‘I want you so bad,’ Jim said heatedly, so close that they were breathing the same air. His hands were warm and trembling as they traced over the sides of Spock’s ribcage, fingers dipping softly into each depression in his skin, thumbs stroking in slow arcs. ‘Want you so bad, honey.’

Jim was shaking in need as he reached down to grasp his erection, and Spock gasped into his mouth as his thumb circled slowly over the head.

‘You have me,’ Spock promised breathily, letting his legs fall wider open even if it embarrassed him to put himself on display like that. Jim’s arousal, however, swallowed up the embarrassment; eyes black with want and a growing desire from his end of the bond were igniting Spock’s own excitement.

‘Do you still want..? Okay. _Yeah.’_

Spock’s fervent nodding sent Jim settling back on his knees between his legs, stroking over his thighs and making him shiver in anticipation.

‘Fuck, t’hy’la, you look so pretty all spread out for me,’ Jim growled, tugging quickly at his own cock. His approval echoed through their link, enveloping Spock in fiery want. ‘Want to get up on your hands and knees for me?’

‘I want to face you,’ Spock said nervously.

‘Just for my fingers, darling, not my cock.’

Spock shook his head, stubborn and unrelenting, and Jim smiled fondly, leaning forward to press one, two, three soft kisses against his lips.

‘Alright then,’ he acquiesced, stroking his thumb across Spock’s cheekbone. ‘It’s supposed to be a bit easier like that, that’s all. I don’t want you to be in pain.’

‘I have remarkable muscle control. I can- _oh.’_

His breath hitched as Jim stroked an exploratory finger over his loosened hole, eyes watching his expression intently.

‘This okay?’ he asked.

Spock nodded, and Jim began searching the bedclothes, shifting fabric and smoothing his hand across the bed until- ‘Aha!’

Lubricant in hand, he hesitated, looking up as he uncapped it. Spock pushed all of his yearning across the bond, nerves mostly gone now, and when Jim still looked uncertain, he took hold of his own erection, letting his eyelids flutter closed as he stroked himself slowly. He heard a low moan from Jim’s direction, and opened his eyes after thumbing over his frenulum, shivering with pleasure as he let his hand fall back to the bed.

‘Now, James,’ he demanded, and was obliged almost immediately, sighing as a slick finger slid in easily, testament to Jim’s enthusiastic preparation. His t’hy’la looked like a god, he thought, as he adjusted to the unfamiliar intrusion. Jim was covered in a thin layer of perspiration which made his golden skin glow, hair tousled and eyes bright, and Spock could not quite believe that this was reality.

_Right back at you, sweetheart._

Jim leant over to kiss the gasp from his lips as his finger crooked, stroking him intimately. The discomfort was minimal, and as Jim shifted, searching, he raised his hips to aid him. When Jim’s finger finally brushed over his prostate, he couldn’t suppress a cry, startled by the jolt of pleasure that made his stomach clench and erection throb.

‘There, Spock?’ Jim crooned, less of a question than a confirmation. He trailed his tongue up Spock’s ear as his finger stroked gently over the gland again and again, until he was boneless and whimpering from the stimulation. ‘You want another?’

‘Yes,’ Spock breathed, momentarily appalled by his tremulous voice, but then he was distracted by the uncomfortable stretch of another finger pushing alongside the first. He knew Jim could feel his discomfort, and was grateful for the stilling of his hand, and the warmth of his skin heating the air between them.

_Are you alright?_ Jim asked, his worry and affection tangible through the bond. He kissed Spock softly, lips gentle as they slid against his, slow and deliberate.

_I am fine, t’hy’la._

Shaking with adoration, Spock cupped his cheek, then slid his fingers up into silky hair, enjoying the feel of it against his sensitised skin. He shifted his hips, sinking down on Jim’s fingers a little, and found that it no longer felt strange. When Jim finally released his lips, he opened his mouth to tell him so, but couldn’t find the words, choosing instead to rock his hips and gasping in a strangled breath as he accidentally found his prostate once more. Jim’s pupils were blown wide as his eyes fixated on Spock’s face, and his lips curled upwards.

‘Doing my job for me, honey?’ he grinned, still not moving. Spock let out a frustrated huff of breath, chasing that singular pleasure with pistoning hips. ‘God, do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?’

_‘Jim,’_ Spock growled, and his t’hy’la relented, the slight burn of his fingers scissoring eclipsed by the extraordinarily pleasurable feeling of them dragging against his prostate. He whined as Jim teased him by alternating the pressure between hard rubbing and gentle brushing, barely noticing when a third finger was added by request.

‘Jim, Jim, please,’ he panted, lubricating fluid and pre-come dripping from his cock, sluicing across his stomach. Jim bent to lick some of it away, making obscene noises of enjoyment in the back of his throat.

‘One more, Spock,’ Jim insisted breathlessly, surfacing with it smeared across his face. ‘One more, sweetheart.’

He moaned at the stretch of another, pain definitely there, but bearable. Jim paused for a long moment as he got his bearings and looked down at Jim’s cock, remembering the weight of it in his hand and understanding the need for four despite his impatience.

‘Don’t wanna hurt you,’ Jim mumbled, fingers slowly and methodically opening him up, and Spock realised how little control he now had over his thoughts. The pleasure was overwhelming, making his muscles pull taut, making him tremble so violently he feared Jim might break him, feared he might fall apart under this man’s hands and never reform. The moment the thought passed through his head, Jim swiftly withdrew his fingers and wrapped Spock in a tight embrace, ignoring his own arousal.

‘Shhh, darling, we don’t have to. It’s alright, we don’t have to.’

He was shaking almost as much as Spock, guilt and sickening regret flowing through the bond, and Spock suddenly realised how that might have sounded to someone who had known abuse.

‘Jim, I-’

‘No, it’s alright, you don’t have to explain. Won’t hurt you. Never hurt you,’ Jim babbled, wild-eyed.

_‘Jim,’_ Spock said loudly, sending a wave of reassurance to quash the misplaced guilt. ‘I did not mean that how you interpreted it. I merely have not experienced that particular type of pleasure before. May we continue?’

The sharpness of Jim’s panic waned a little, and he pulled away to gauge Spock’s expression. They both shuddered as their as-yet-ignored erections came into delicious contact.

‘You sure?’

‘I am sure,’ Spock confirmed. It was truth. He wanted it, wanted it so badly that he would beg if he had to – a thought he rather firmly repressed. Jim still seemed unsure, but his desire had overtaken his worry. ‘Uncertainty does not become you, t’hy’la.’

That gained him a grin, and Jim leant in to give him a brief, passionate kiss.

_Mmm, you just like me being assertive._

He pulled back slowly, nipping playfully at Spock’s lower lip, before attaching his mouth to the side of his neck.

_Perhaps,_ Spock answered, urgency beginning to retake him as Jim grazed a spot on his neck that made him gasp. _Jim, please. Now._

The gentle reinsertion of Jim’s fingers had him gasping, and within a few minutes, he was writhing again, reaching down to grasp Jim’s erection in an attempt to speed up the process. Jim moaned as he thrust into the loose circle that Spock's fingers made, and pulled his own out, leaving Spock feeling bereft. He let go as Jim settled in the cradle of his hips, hands pushing gently into the tender backs of his knees until they were almost at his chest.

‘You sure?’ Jim repeated, erection an angry red and weeping. He took himself in hand, applied the lubricant, and rubbed the slick head of his cock against Spock’s loosened hole, making him shudder with want.

‘Yes, t’hy’la,’ Spock said breathily, pushing back against him. ‘Take me.’

He knew it would enflame Jim, and it did, his eyes flashing and his mouth falling open as he pressed forward. The inevitable pain that Spock felt was slight, and overridden by the sheer eroticism of feeling Jim inside him, his pleasured groan reverberating through them both. Overwhelmed, Spock closed his eyes and fought for muscle control, relaxing himself under the unfamiliar intrusion.

‘Are you alright?’ Jim asked breathlessly, forearms coming to rest by Spock’s shoulders as he slumped forwards. Spock nodded, opening his eyes in surprise as Jim kissed his nose, a loving smile on his lips. ‘You tell me when you’re ready.’

_Now,_ Spock thought, letting himself go pliant. _Now, Jim._

Jim kissed him deeply, inching back until he was almost fully withdrawn, re-angling himself.

_Baby, I’m gonna make you come so hard._

Spock cried out in surprised pleasure as Jim pushed back in and grazed his prostate on the first try, the burning edge of pain accompanying it paling in comparison. A smug smile crossed his t’hy’la’s face as he realised what he had managed, hips rolling lazily as he fell into a measured rhythm.

‘Do not… get cocky... James,’ he said breathlessly, a feat all of its own considering the ecstasy that was approaching all too quickly, pressure building in his lower stomach. Jim grinned, a lock of hair falling onto his forehead as he drove Spock into oblivion, hands caressing his body in reverence as he thrust slow and deep.

‘I love you,’ Spock panted, already on the edge.

‘Love you too,’ Jim growled, a hand wrapping round his erection and stroking until he was quivering, straining for release. ‘Tell me what you need.’

_Faster, Jim, please,_ he begged, a broken cry falling from lax lips as Jim obeyed, torso flat against his, and he pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against Spock’s jaw. His hips rocked into Jim shamelessly, hands slipping across sweat-slick shoulders as he held onto him for dear life, jarring waves of pleasure growing stronger and stronger until he was desperate. He whimpered, too far gone to express his need, but Jim anticipated it anyway, and after a soft kiss, he sucked two of Spock’s fingers into his warm, wet mouth. Spock fell apart. He wailed as the waves crested, clutching at Jim as his t’hy’la worked him through it, wringing every last drop of semen from his trembling body. It was only when coherency returned to him a minute or two later - his time sense was compromised – that he realised that Jim was no longer moving, head tucked underneath his chin.

‘Jim?’ he whispered, threading a shaking hand through his hair.

‘Just trying to get a hold of myself,’ Jim answered, voice strained. ‘Give me a minute, t’hy’la.’

Spock did so, enjoying the constant pulse of Jim’s pleasure through the bond, arching into the kisses ghosted against his neck.

‘You have not yet found release,’ he murmured, a question in his voice.

‘Want you to come again,’ Jim said heatedly, wrapping a hand around his spent cock and making him gasp as he milked it gently. Desire began to curl up his spine once more. ‘That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it, I know you can.’

He moaned softly as Jim shifted, brushing against his prostate as he continued to stroke him back to hardness. Rocking his hips in experiment, he found his sensitivity to be just on the edge of unbearable, but Jim’s careful ministrations soon yielded a slow burn of pleasure that was almost more intense than last time.

‘T’hy’la,’ he moaned, turning Jim’s face to his and kissing him hard, watching bright blue eyes fall shut before he closed his own. Jim’s hand did not falter, nor did his hips, driving Spock steadily to distraction. Pleasure ricocheted between them, rising, amplifying, and Spock tore his lips away to gasp for breath, feeling Jim’s desperation to hold back.

_Jim, it is alright._

Jim shook his head, pupils blown with arousal, mouth hanging open. He groaned as Spock thumbed over his nipple and slipped a hand down to grasp at his backside, unintentionally thrusting harder and making Spock hiss with pleasure.

_James,_ Spock crooned, his own orgasm approaching as Jim mercilessly stimulated his prostate. _I want you to come for me._

He squeezed his muscles around Jim’s cock, and Jim let out a helpless cry, falling forward and pushing in once, twice, three times more before coming with a sob of Spock’s name, face buried in his neck. Spock carded a hand through his hair, ignoring his own urgency in favour of holding Jim, brushing his lips against his forehead.

‘Fuck,’ Jim murmured, his satisfaction permeating through the bond.

Spock could not prevent his lips from curling upwards.

‘Indeed.’

Jim emerged from his hiding place in the crook of Spock’s neck and kissed him gently, brushing the back of his fingers against his cock and making him shudder.

‘Gimme a second, and I’ll take care of that,’ Jim smiled, hands falling to his hips. ‘I’m going to pull out now, honey – it might hurt a little.’

Spock nodded distractedly, wincing at the sting of withdrawal, but was more concerned with his aching erection, so aroused that it was almost painful. Jim did not tease, merely sank down after a final soft kiss, and sealed his lips around the head of his cock. He had learnt from last time, clever hands stimulating what his mouth could not, and Spock soon found himself writhing.

‘James!’ he gasped. ‘Ashayam, please!’

He slipped his hand down to brush Jim’s meld points, and as Jim swallowed around him, tugging gently at his sac, his orgasm slammed into him. He cried out and tangled his hand in Jim’s hair, letting his pleasure explode through the bond. His t’hy’la moaned around him, and when he opened his eyes, wonderfully sated, he watched Jim’s semen splatter onto the bed as he came untouched. Spock leant forward to stroke him through the last of it, mouth pressing gently against Jim’s as it hung open. He was privately self-satisfied by the time it took for Jim to clumsily kiss him back, a trembling hand cradling the back of his head.

_What the hell did you just do to me? I wasn’t even hard!_

_One of many things that the bond is useful for, t’hy’la,_ Spock replied, amused.

Jim tore his lips away to take in a breath, staring at him with something akin to wonder.

‘I’m so glad I bonded with you,’ he murmured, smiling with more fragility than Spock had ever seen.

‘As am I, ashal-veh.’

Jim lay down and pulled Spock to his chest, and they lay together for a long while, silent apart from the wet noises that kisses made when they were tenderly exchanged. Eventually, though, Jim grew restless, as was inevitable for his fidgety bondmate.

‘Perhaps we should shower?’ Spock suggested.

‘Only if we can go together.’

It was a novel intimacy, washing together. They used water, because Spock knew that Jim liked it, the heat turned up as far as Jim could bear. Their cleansing was slow, and interrupted many times by the need to be close, but finally, they returned to Jim’s quarters in clothing.

‘Spock, I kind of want to tell Selek,’ Jim muttered, face pressed between Spock’s shoulder blades as he disposed of their towels. ‘And my brother.’

Spock turned in his arms and kissed him lightly, nose nuzzling against his.

‘My father also,’ he added. Sarek would be pleased to hear this news, even if he would not show it in front of Jim.

‘Who first?’

‘Perhaps my counterpart?’ Spock suggested. ‘He will be pleased to know that his meddling has been successful.’

‘Spock, don’t be mean!’ Jim complained, as he propped up his padd on the desk, and pulled Spock into a chair in front of it, settling in his own.

_I only speak the truth, t’hy’la._

_Yeah, alright._

The old Vulcan answered their hailing promptly, and Spock saw too-human eyes, identical to his, widen with surprise, then soften. He and Jim were sat shoulder to shoulder, hands tangled possessively together, but that was out of the view of the screen – Spock did not understand how his counterpart could know of their relationship. Selek’s lips curled into a small smile, and beside him, Jim huffed.

‘Out with it. How do you know?’

Selek’s smile widened, showing an appalling lack of control.

‘Perhaps before you contact our father, Spock, you should attempt to conceal the love marks that cover your neck.’

Spock stiffened, a hand rising instinctively to cover the bruising that must be there.

‘Oh my God,’ Jim laughed, thumbing over his handiwork. ‘I didn’t even notice. Am I-? You were getting a little carried away last night too.’

Confirming Jim’s predictions, there were a number of red-purple bruises above his collar, and Spock flushed, feeling a mixture of pride and shame.

_Yeah, you love it._

_I love **you,** Jim._

Jim squeezed his hand, making his breath catch.

_And I love you. So much._

‘Might I ask how this came about?’ Selek asked, seemingly amused by their private moment.

‘Well… you know I’ve felt like this for a long time. Spock too, but he wouldn’t admit it. Then, uh, then I got really sick, and Spock realised what a dumb-dumb he’d been, and… yeah.’

‘A vague, but essentially accurate account of events,’ Spock agreed, stroking his thumb over the back of Jim’s hand. ‘Had I not been so reticent, a lot of pain could have been avoided on both sides.’

‘It wasn’t all your fault,’ Jim murmured, placing his other hand on top of their conjoined pair.

‘You are stubborn,’ Selek commented. ‘As was I. As was my James. It took us many years to admit our feelings to one another, and as such, I did not have as much time with him as I wanted. I am glad for you both.’

His expression was soft and indulgent as he glanced between them both, and Spock found himself re-evaluating his opinion slightly.

‘Thanks, Selek,’ Jim smiled, beautiful and bright like sunshine. ‘It means a lot.’

‘There is no need for thanks. However, I must now take my leave. There is much work to be done on T’Khasi.’

Spock nodded, and Jim said goodbye in numerous ways, before they parted in the traditional Vulcan manner. He found that the words ‘Live Long and Prosper’ held so much more meaning now that he and Jim were bonded. The screen went blank, and Jim jumped from his seat, opening a drawer and fishing out a dermal regenerator.

‘Don’t tell Bones I have this,’ he warned, healing Spock’s bruises with a tingling pulse. ‘And you know I’m going to replace them where they can’t be seen, right?’

‘Of course, ashayam,’ Spock purred, taking the regenerator and doing the same for him. ‘I will be also.’

He pressed a sucking kiss to Jim’s pulse point, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to trigger a low moan, hands grasping at his shirt.

‘Later,’ Spock promised, detaching himself and dampening the arousal that ran between them with forced calm.

_There are so many things I want to do to you, t’hy’la._

Spock shivered as he heard Jim’s growl in his head, hurriedly making the call to his father before they could get distracted. Sarek took even less time to answer the call than Selek – 1.36 seconds to be exact – yet the trace of emotion that Spock could see on his face was hopeful rather than knowing.

‘Sa-mekh,’ he greeted.

‘My son.’

He was taking the call in his study again, an environment still not quite familiar to Spock. The photograph of his mother, however, brought comfort to him, as did Jim’s warm hand upon his thigh.

‘I believe you requested that I call you should the nature of the bond change.’

‘Wait!’ Jim exclaimed, turning to stare at him. ‘He _knew?’_

Spock raised an eyebrow.

‘As Selek was your confidante, my father was mine, Jim.’

‘Oh. Right.’

Jim settled back in his seat, embarrassment curling in the space between them, and Spock rubbed his thumb against Jim’s wrist in comfort.

‘If I may, Captain?’ Sarek interjected. Jim flushed a deep pink and nodded hurriedly. Perhaps to him, his father seemed stern, even frightening, but Spock could see the faint tinge of amusement in his father’s expression – and the veiled warmth in his eyes. ‘You have my congratulations, both of you. I am pleased that you finally heeded my advice, Spock.’

‘I wish that I had done so sooner,’ Spock admitted, allowing Jim to hook a bare foot around his ankle, stroking slowly up and down.

‘And Captain?’

Jim’s foot froze.

‘Yeah? You can call me Jim, you know, or Kirk, or whatever…’ he trailed off, muttering incoherently.

‘Jim, then,’ Sarek chose, an eyebrow raised. ‘Are you recovered from your illness?’

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Jim blustered, the bond tinged with nerves. ‘It was just a minor thing.’

Spock frowned.

‘It was not. I almost lost you… _again.’_

He could not prevent his pain from filtering through their connection, and in the next moment, it was thrumming with guilt.

_Sorry, sweetheart,_ Jim apologised, taking his hand once more. _I just didn’t want to make a big thing of it in front of your dad._

‘Okay, so maybe it was a bit more than minor,’ he admitted to Sarek, whose expression had grown subtly indulgent. ‘But the point is, I’m here now, and we’re happy.’

He squeezed Spock’s hand gently, careful not to set off any untoward reaction – and for that, Spock was grateful.

‘Indeed. I am thankful that my son has found his t’hy’la. It is a rare and sacred bond that I am sure Spock has explained to you.’

Jim nodded, a smile flitting across his lips.

‘When you are next in the vicinity of T’Khasi, you are both very welcome to visit. And I am sure that Selek would not mind seeing you either.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ Spock murmured.

‘You are welcome.’ His father steepled his fingers in front of his chin, regarding them both thoughtfully. ‘I believe… no. I _know_ that your mother would be proud.’

Spock’s throat tightened, and he felt Jim trying to soothe his tumultuous emotions with faint gratitude.

‘As am I.’

That was it. Spock’s eyes filled with tears, and though he blinked rapidly to attempt to conceal them, he knew he was not successful. Jim reached up, one hand slipping around him to rub his shoulder, the other stroking across his stomach. His shame was overridden by Jim’s love and comfort, wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

‘Do not feel shame, my son,’ Sarek said softly, reaching out to brush his fingers against a framed photograph that faced away from Spock. ‘Love is not logical. And yet, here we are.’

Spock brought his hand up to cover Jim’s, heedless of his father’s presence. His lips twitched.

‘Here we are,’ he echoed.

There was a faint murmur in the background of the call, and his father’s head turned.

‘One moment,’ he told the unknown interrupter, and caught Spock’s gaze once more. ‘I reiterate my offer of hospitality. You will always have a home with me, should you wish it.’

‘Thank you,’ Jim smiled, before Spock could say anything.

‘You are welcome. Unfortunately, now I have duties to attend to. I will speak with you soon, my son.’

‘Yes, Father,’ Spock agreed, a little distracted by two of Jim’s unseen fingers stroking down the back of his hand. ‘Live long and prosper.’

‘Peace and long life, Spock.’

As soon as the connection was cut, Jim grasped his face in both hands and kissed him, at once passionate and gentle, soft and deep. Spock lost himself for a moment in the wet slide of their mouths, teeth nipping gently against his lower lip, and the constant comfort of their bond, so much stronger than he had ever dared hope it would be.

_Love you,_ Jim gasped.

‘Yes, t’hy’la,’ Spock panted, breaking away and watching Jim’s chest heave in tandem with his. ‘Taluhk nash-veh k’dular.’

He placed his finger over Jim’s lips as he went to kiss him again, and shuddered when Jim sucked lightly at it.

‘One more call,’ he reminded him, voice rough with lust.

Jim sighed, but nodded, settling back in his chair. When the call connected, a genial, sandy-haired man appeared, with eyes as startlingly blue as Jim’s.

‘Sammy,’ Jim greeted, smirking.

‘Jimmy,’ Sam replied mockingly, before his smile grew wide and genuine. ‘So come on then, what’s happening? It’s not often I get a call from my baby brother.’

‘Not often I get a call from you either,’ Jim retorted, though it was in good humour, considering what Spock could feel through the bond.

‘Yeah, yeah, c’mon then. What?’

Jim pulled Spock towards him from where he had been sitting just out of view, and tangled their fingers together.

‘Sam, this is my bondmate, Spock.’

Spock could feel the pride and boundless love that Jim experienced just saying those words, and shared his own with little delay. He inclined his head to Sam, who was sat back in his chair, wide-eyed.

‘You married?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Yeah! Well… sort of,’ Jim grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Not human married – yet anyway.’

He shot Spock a sultry look, who squeezed his hand in return. He had considered human marriage, of course, but bonding was what he had been raised to expect, what his mind called out to fulfil.

‘Holy shit! Well congratulations, Jimmy. You told, uh… you told mom?’

Jim stiffened, their connection flooding with discomfort, and no small sense of misery. Spock trailed a Vulcan kiss down the back of his hand, pushing his devotion through the bond, and was pleased when the dark cloud lifted a little.

‘No. Think I should?’

‘Nah,’ Sam drawled, drumming his fingers on the armrests. ‘She washed her hands of us a loooong time ago. You choose your family, Jimmy. That being said, I want to talk to Spock, so just shut your ears for a second, bud.’

Spock was going to argue that one could not shut their ears, but decided against antagonising Jim’s family members, few as they were. Jim obediently placed his hands over his ears, and shut his eyes for good measure.

‘Now… I’m sure I don’t need to warn you about hurting him. He’d kick your ass if you did. But in case that isn’t enough – if you do, I _will_ come after you. He’s been hurt enough.’

Spock believed it, those eyes – so like Jim’s – piercing his, sharp and predatory. He nodded, once.

‘And now that _that’s_ over with…’ Sam relaxed once more, arms stretching out over the armrests of the chair. ‘I assume you’re going to get married at some point. Before you do that, it’s your job to propose, okay? Do it, and do it well, because as much as Jimmy would like to let you believe he doesn’t care about that shit – he does. Something meaningful, Spock. And a ring, alright?’

Spock nodded dumbly, hiding his racing thoughts about what Sam had just told him. He would have to conduct some research before proposing to Jim, and he wished it to be a surprise. Perhaps Doctor McCoy would be able to help. Sam sat back, satisfied.

‘Poke him for me, will you?’

_Jim, we are finished,_ Spock murmured, and Jim opened his eyes, hands dropping.

‘What were you talking about?’ he asked eagerly.

‘Never you mind,’ Sam scolded, getting up out of his chair. ‘I’m glad you called, because I’ve got someone to introduce to you anyway.’

Jim sat forwards expectantly, Spock, less so, as Sam left the viewscreen for a moment, and returned with a small bundle in his arms. A hand poked out of the swaddling, tiny fingers grasping at thin air, and Jim gasped, his delight spreading through them both.

‘You’re lucky I answered your call, ’cause we’ve just got back from the hospital. Aurelan’s asleep – poor thing - and this little one’s not quite a day old.’

Sam retook his seat gingerly, and Spock stared, fascinated, as the child’s eyes opened, a beautiful, unnatural blue, just like his father’s. Just like Jim’s.

‘Oh my gosh,’ Jim gushed. ‘Hello, baby!’

He made a childish waving motion with his hand, and the infant fixated on it, wide-eyed.

‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ Sam smiled, stroking the downy tuft of hair on the baby’s head with a finger. ‘His name is Peter.’

‘Hey, Peter,’ Jim cooed. ‘He’s gorgeous, Sam, congratulations!’

_He’s the most beautiful baby **ever** , _he informed Spock, the bond glowing with happiness.

_He is not._

_Spock!_

_The most beautiful child in existence would belong to us, t’hy’la,_ Spock insisted, truly believing it.

Jim flushed, the soft glow of the bond brightening with his happiness.

_That’s true._

Peter whimpered, squirming, and was rocked by his father.

‘Shh, darling,’ Jim cooed, reaching out uselessly, as if to comfort. ‘Sam, I want one!’

‘Well then you'll have to get a surrogate. Or adopt. Or one of you’ll have to get an implant, if you’re going down that route.’

‘Potentially, yes,’ Spock murmured, letting the corner of his lips lift a little as Peter fixed large, blue eyes on his face and yawned.

‘Jimmy always was mommy material.’

_‘Daddy’_ material, thank you,’ Jim sniffed. ‘And anyway, I’m not the one making goo-goo eyes at my kid.’

‘No, you’re making goo-goo eyes at _my_ kid,’ Sam laughed. ‘Get your own, bucko.’

‘Maybe I will after the mission,’ Jim retorted.

‘How is Peter’s mother?’ Spock asked quietly. ‘I am sure that childbirth is incredibly taxing.’

‘Ain’t that the truth! But she’s fine, thanks, just exhausted. She did so great.’

Peter whimpered again, but this time, he didn’t calm with his father’s rocking, and the sound grew into a piercing wail.

‘Alright, baby, alright. Jimmy, I’m gonna have to go and get this little one fed.’

‘Okay,’ Jim pouted, voice rising in pitch as he said, ‘Bye-bye, Peter! Bye Sammy. Send my love to Aurelan!’

‘See you later, Jim. Spock, remember what I said.’

‘I will,’ Spock affirmed. ‘Goodbye, Sam… Peter.’

The connection went black, and as soon as it did, Jim pounced. He knocked his chair over in the haste to climb into Spock’s lap, tongue sliding against the seam of his lips until Spock yielded and let it in to stroke slickly over his. It was a heady sensation, and Spock felt a brief frisson of jealousy as he considered how many others had enjoyed the remarkable pleasures that Jim was capable of bestowing upon him.

‘Oh baby, don’t be jealous,’ Jim crooned, as he pulled back wetly. ‘I’m all yours now, and you’re all mine. Hey, there’re no explicit regs about kids on starships, are there?’

‘There are not.’

‘Good,’ Jim smiled, tugging lightly at Spock’s collar. ‘Soon as this mission’s over, I want a baby, or two. Or three.’

Spock raised an eyebrow, but he did not object. Their future held endless possibilities, and adding to their family did not daunt him. Jim’s ensuing laugh was threaded through with joy, the bond also, and Spock could not help but lean forward to kiss him on the forehead. Jim clung to him, eyelashes dipping demurely, and interlinked their fingers.

‘Maybe a little Vulcan baby from the colony,’ he whispered. ‘Do you think they’d let us have one?’

‘Perhaps. My father has considerable pull,’ Spock admitted, stomping on the premature excitement that threatened to overwhelm him. He had not thought beyond Jim before they bonded, but he could not deny that the idea of children, _their_ children, felt right. Felt like home.

Jim kissed him once more, rocking against him with a carnal hunger that made his blood burn. Spock ground against the thickening erection in Jim’s pants, one hand dropping to squeeze his backside as the other remained linked with Jim’s, providing a constant feedback loop of arousal.

‘You are insatiable,’ he groaned, as Jim’s mouth attached itself to his collarbone. ‘We made love less than an hour ago.’

Jim’s filthy laugh echoed through the bond, and as Spock lifted him into his arms, he gasped, a lascivious grin settling on his lips.

‘Gotta get some babymaking practice in, t’hy’la,’ he whispered, clinging to Spock as he carried him to bed.

‘Jim, you must be aware that we cannot conceive a child through interc-’

As Jim interrupted him with a kiss, one hand brushing a Vulcan kiss down the side of his face, the other descending to gently squeeze his burgeoning cock, Spock decided that correcting him really was of no import.

The next morning, they left their quarters (as Jim had now christened them) with no small amount of reluctance, the thought of being unable to touch for even a moment anathema to both. When Jim had expressed his concern over their ‘clinginess’ to one another, Spock had assuaged his worries by telling him that it was a symptom of the settling bond, and would soon dissipate. In a way, despite its disadvantages, Spock didn’t want it to. He and Jim parted ways with a discreet Vulcan kiss as they exited the turbolift, Spock returning to his station, Jim to the chair that had been without him for too long. He watched his Captain, his _t’hy’la,_ settle into his rightful place with a contented sigh, and sent his affection flowing across their connection, only for Jim’s to be echoed back, strong and sure.

_God, I’d love to have you in this chair,_ Jim remarked, catching his eye as the others on Alpha shift streamed in. _Only a few more hours before we can slip away again._

_I will await thee eagerly, ashayam,_ Spock replied, shivering as Jim trailed two fingers idly up and down the armrest nearest to him. He allowed a brief flash of his desire, and the arousing picture that Jim’s declaration had generated, to slip through the bond. Jim ducked his head and smiled a secret smile, the turn of his lips barely visible, though his flush was clearly. As Nyota came to sit beside him, Spock inclined his head to her, ignoring her knowing grin, and watched Jim sit up straight, exuding authority. The rest of the Bridge crew took their seats and waited for his orders, quiet and respectful. Everything and nothing had changed.

‘Where to, Captain?’ Lieutenant Sulu asked, warmth in his gaze as he looked at Jim.

A smile tugged at the corner of Jim’s lips.

‘Second star to the right, and straight on ‘til morning,’ Jim grinned, and shook his head at Spock as he opened his mouth to question him. ‘I’m _joking,_ Spock. Straight ahead, Mr. Sulu, and onto the next system. Warp Factor one.’

‘Aye, Captain!’

Spock received Jim’s wicked smile with lips twitching upwards, before turning back to his station to begin his duties. He had thought himself fortunate to find a place where he felt he belonged, but to find his t’hy’la also, someone as intelligent and stunning and remarkable as Jim – it almost made him believe in luck.

_Taluhk nash-veh k’dular, ashayam,_ Jim whispered clumsily. Despite his butchered pronunciation, Spock had never heard anything more beautiful.

_I cherish thee also, my James,_ Spock returned, and the bond bloomed with affection. _Now let us work so that we may be together again later._

A buzz of arousal followed his words, but it was quickly contained on both sides.

_Roger that,_ Jim murmured, and Spock began on a new set of calculations, feeling truly happy for perhaps the first time in his life. He had a fulfilling career, a bondmate he adored, and friends that were motivated neither by trickery nor by his status. Selek had had so little time with his own Jim, and he hoped fervently that theirs would be a partnership that would last for many years longer. He would never forget Vulcan, nor his mother, but the luminousness of the bond and the prospect of starting a family had begun to soothe the black emptiness that lingered, a welcome balm for his loneliness. Responding to Nyota’s questioning look with a raised eyebrow, Spock settled into his work, wondering at the new, unfamiliar readings coming through on his scanner. There was so much yet to discover in this universe, and with his _t’hy’la_ by his side, Spock would step without fear into the unknown. Together, they would map the stars.

\---------------------------------------

_Though my soul may set in darkness_

_It will rise in perfect light_

_I have loved the stars too fondly_

_To be fearful of the night._

\---------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The excerpt above is from a poem called ‘The Old Astronomer’, by Sarah Williams. I’ve loved it for a long time, and this verse always reminds me of Trek. I can’t believe that this has come to an end. At over 100k, it’s the longest fic I have ever written, and it’s almost sad for me to post this final chapter. This isn’t the end though – while I may take a little break of a month or two because of my crippling workload, I have two Spirk fics definitely planned, and there’s always the possibility of a sequel in the future! 
> 
> After my break, I’m going to begin with a zombie!AU, beginning at the Academy. I love The Walking Dead, and my favourite book is World War Z, so there are going to be elements that are drawn from them. Every chapter will begin with an interview excerpt, then continue with prose, and different chapters will have different POVs. Of course, most of those POVs will belong to our favourite boys! Here’s a tiny little taster from the interview part of the first chapter:
> 
> ‘Stardate 2258.66. 0930 hours. KL interviewing JTK.
> 
> James Tiberius Kirk sits before me, arms folded tight against his chest. Although young, he wears a battle-weary expression, and his boyish good looks are marred only slightly by a scar spanning his right cheek. Like most survivors, he is hostile – some might say deservedly so – and insists that various members of his crew be allowed to remain outside during this interview, in case of ‘trouble’. Before the virus outbreak, he was on the Command track at Starfleet Academy, located in San Francisco, USA, Earth, hoping to follow in the footsteps of his late father George as a Starship Captain. When I ask him how he thinks the virus started, he huffs out a sharp breath through his nose and shrugs, frowning.
> 
> JK: Look, nobody knows how it started. There were rumours, of course, going from refugee camp to refugee camp, and new ones came with the nomads. But no one actually knows. Do you?
> 
>  
> 
> _[I am not authorised to answer this question. There is a moment of silence.]_
> 
>  
> 
> We just want to know your experience, Mr. Kirk, in whatever way you wish to tell of it.'
> 
> I’m going to start posting teasers on my [tumblr](http://pastmydancingdays.tumblr.com/) before each chapter goes up, I think. The second fic I have planned is going to explore the t’hy’la bond, and the possible consequences of it remaining unfulfilled. But zombies first. 
> 
> I really, really hope you guys enjoyed this last chapter, and that you’ve enjoyed this fic. I am so grateful for the support I’ve received from so many of you, and your positivity has motivated me to keep on writing. Thank you. As I say, this isn’t the end – there is so much more fic I have to write – and I hope that some of you guys will want to read what I create next. In the meantime, feel free to come and chat to me over on tumblr, about spirk or trek or anything, or ask questions about what I have planned, and I’ll hopefully be putting my first chapter of my new fic up in a month or so!


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